Queen of Swords
by Cassandra147
Summary: Minerva McGonagall: a life.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just spending a little time in her universe. Original characters and plot belong to me.

Author's Note: A debt of gratitude is owed to the people of the HP Lexicon who provided invaluable assistance. Lullabymoon, my beta, is also owed many thanks. When I mentioned this crazy idea to her, she said "Let's do it!" instead of calling the nice men with white coats.

Updating: Approximately two weeks between chapters (at least that's what I think at the moment)

Setting: Hogwarts 1933

Queen of Swords: Chapter 1

With a crunch of gravel and a rattle of the carriage, Minerva stepped down onto the drive. She waited a moment for her companion, a young wizard with unruly black hair and a wide grin, before mounting the stone steps. Above her head, the lighted windows of the castle welcomed the train of returning students, inviting them to pass through the massive wooden doors and into the Entrance Hall. Inside, the walls rang with the chatter of the students, friends sharing summer stories, classmates exchanging hellos and how are yous, and yearmates anticipating the coming term. Minerva rolled her eyes as her friend attempted to neaten his hair and winked at a pretty Ravenclaw fifth year. The pair proceeded into the Great Hall, making their way to the Gryffindor table and finding seats near the staff platform.

"Hello, Edward. Hello, Minerva. Good summer?"Cecilia Douglas, her blonde curls bouncing excitedly, plopped down next to her friends. She was joined by the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors.

"Not bad. My family spent some time at the seaside," answered Edward. "How about you?"

"Mum took me up to see my father's parents in Lincolnshire for the summer." She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Minerva, did Professor Forsythe tell you anything about our new Head of House? I've already asked around and nobody knows who it is."

"No, I'm afraid not." Minerva glanced up at the High Table, focusing on the sole unidentified presence among the staff. The wizard, who was seated to the left of the Headmaster, appeared distinctly disreputable with a drab gray robe, a bored expression, and gray flyaway hair. He hardly seemed to fit the bill for a prospective professor at Hogwarts, let alone for the prestigious position of Gryffindor's Head of House. Minerva, however, decided to keep her observations to herself and merely said, "I don't recognize him from any book or journal that I've read."

"Oh well," replied Cecilia, "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"I just hope he likes Quidditch," added Edward. "The Cup has our name on it this year." As they had been talking, the stream of students had slowed to a trickle and then to sporadic spurts of latecomers and finally stopped. After a minute or two, a line of first years entered, led by Professor Merrythought. She stopped them in front of the High Table and the Sorting Hat which was perched on its customary stool. The annual song issued forth from the Sorting Hat, detailing the qualities of each House, and afterwards Merrythought began calling students forward to be sorted. Whenever a new Gryffindor was declared, the older students erupted into clapping and cheers. Looking very small and somewhat overwhelmed, the first years took their places near the sixth years. Minerva tried to memorize the name and face as each addition took a seat.

When the Sorting finished, Headmaster Dippet rose and said, "Welcome to Hogwarts. As I'm sure you are all very hungry, I will postpone the announcements until after the feast. Please, enjoy your supper." With that, the tables suddenly groaned under added weight of overflowing platters and dishes. The students reached for their favorites, devouring the feast in record time. When the deserts had disappeared, mostly into their stomachs, Dippet tapped his glass with a knife. Gradually, the students fell quiet while Dippet waited, standing in place.

"Thank you," he said, "and now, I have a couple of announcements to make. First, I would like to introduce our newest member of staff. Professor Forsythe, as many of you are aware, retired at the end of last year. I am very honored to present his replacement, Professor Albus Dumbledore who will be taking the post of Transfigurations and of Gryffindor Head of House. I hope that you extend to him the warmest possible welcome." As Dippet spoke, the dowdy wizard to his left stood. He bowed politely to the Headmaster and promptly disappeared in a brilliant flash of light. When Minerva's eyes recovered, he had transformed; flowing auburn hair and beard, a tall and lean build which towered over the diminutive Dippet, and bright blue robes that matched his eyes. Momentarily stunned for a second, the students burst into applause, the loudest coming from the Gryffindor table. Dumbledore smiled, revealing a dimple, before retaking his seat.

Once the noise had died down, Dippet continued, informing the first years about the Forbidden Forest and the prohibition on magic in the corridors. He then mentioned that Quidditch trials would be held in two weeks, which promptly sent Edward into a hushed debate with the other boys over likely candidates for each of the House teams. Minerva ignored most of Dippet's speech and Edward's conversation as there was nothing new being discussed. Instead, she searched her memory for any information about Albus Dumbledore. She unearthed a reputation for being the genius scion of an ancient and respected pureblood line. Vaguely, she also recalled a mention of him as a noted alchemist. To that scanty list, she added that he apparently possessed a flair for the dramatic. Minerva suppressed a sigh and reminded herself to reserve judgment until she had a chance to know him better.

"Well, well, I think it's time for bed. Classes will start on Monday so I suggest that you make the most of the weekend. Goodnight," Dippet finally concluded. The students clambered to their feet, benches scraping across the flagstones.

"First years, please remain at your seats. The prefects will escort you to the dormitory after the older students have exited," Minerva instructed. Together with Edward and the two fifth year prefects, Minerva waited until the hall had cleared. Indicating Edward and herself, she said, "Please follow us. Veronica, Richard, would you take the rear?" With the first years trailing behind her, Minerva guided them up the stairs to the seventh floor and along the corridors to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Welcome to Gryffindor House, little cubs," exclaimed the Fat Lady, throwing her arms wide. "Password please, dearie," she addressed to Minerva.

"Portus Leoninus," Minerva replied, careful to speak loudly and clearly for the benefit of the first years.

"Correct," said the Fat Lady as she swung open to admit them. They climbed through the portrait hole into the common room. While the prefects gathered together, the first years milled about in the open space in front of the hearth.

"Welcome to Gryffindor Tower," Edward called out, drawing their attention. "This is the house common room. The boys' dormitory is on the left, first years have the fourth floor through that door." He first pointed to one door and then turned to indicate another one on the right. "The girls have the same level through there." As he spoke, the portrait opened and the seventh year prefects joined the group.

"Good evening, everyone," said one of the two, a petite and fiery young witch. "Before you go to bed, we would like to introduce ourselves and to learn your names. My name is Agatha Delancey and I'm one of your prefects. I'm in seventh year and interested in Herbology and Astronomy."

Richard went next, his voice booming out of his chest, "Richard Fawcett, fifth year prefect. My favorite subject is Care of Magical Creatures."

"Hi, my name is Veronica Marchbanks." Cheerful hazel eyes and pinked cheeks animated the next speaker as she spoke slightly too fast. "I'm a fifth year prefect too. I like Charms best. You're going to have a terrific time here at Hogwarts."

"Hello," said a boy with short blondish hair and powerful arms, "I'm Jordan Matterson, seventh year prefect and Quidditch captain for Gryffindor. I enjoy both Potions and Arithmancy."

Minerva stepped forward to take her turn. "Good evening, my name is Minerva McGonagall and I'm a sixth year prefect. My best classes are Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration."

"And I'm Edward Potter, also a sixth year prefect," Edward announced, grin firmly fixed in place. "I'm good at Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures."

"Now that we have told you who we are, could you please go around and tell us your names?" asked Agatha. "And something about yourselves? Maybe your favorite sweet or flavor of ice cream?" One by one, the first years complied, nudging each other to speak up.

When they had finished, Jordan said, "Thank you. As your prefects, we are here to help you adjust to Hogwarts. You can come to us for help with homework, questions about Hogwarts, or advice on classes and professors. If you are having an argument with your roommate, trouble with an essay, or can't find your way, please ask any one of us and we will be happy to help."

"We all wear these badges on our robes to identify us as prefects," added Richard, indicating the gold and red emblem clasped on his breast.

"Now, classes start on Monday so you have the weekend to explore the castle and to become acquainted with each other and with rest of the students. " Agatha motioned towards the dormitories. "Your belongings have already been taken up to your rooms. Goodnight and once again, welcome to Hogwarts and to Gryffindor." The first years dispersed, murmuring goodnights as they disappeared up the stairways.

"They look like a good lot," remarked Edward.

"Yes, they should be fine additions. Why were you late?" Richard inquired of the seventh years.

"Dumbledore wanted to meet us," Agatha answered.

"Really? What's he like?" demanded Veronica, perching on a chair arm with her legs swinging.

"He seems pleasant. I think he will be a good teacher and Head of House," declared Agatha.

"He's brilliant, alright," added Jordan, "and he seems enthusiastic about teaching here. He requested a House meeting on Monday evening." A yawn nearly cut off his last words. "I'm for bed. Goodnight." The other prefects conceded tiredness as well and headed for the dormitories. Edward and Minerva lingered after the others had gone.

"It's good to be back at Hogwarts," said Edward.

Minerva swept her eyes over the familiar room, taking in the sight of red cushioned armchairs, scratched tables, and the clean swept hearth. A short climb away, her four poster bed with gold trimmed crimson draperies awaited her, her trunk resting at its foot. "Yes, it is good to be home. Goodnight, Edward."

"Goodnight, Minerva. Don't let the nargles bite," Edward called over his shoulder as he started up the boys' staircase. The door thumped shut before Minerva could remind him that there were no such things as nargles. With a shake of her head, she ascended the staircase to the sixth floor. Upon entering, she greeted her roommates, prepared for bed, slipped underneath the covers, and promptly fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Queen of Swords: Chapter 2

Setting: Hogwarts 1933

Minerva entered the Great Hall on Monday to find Professor Merrythought installed at the end of the Ravenclaw table, a stack of parchment in front of her. The elder witch, who was well into her twelfth decade, peered at Minerva as she approached through a thick monocle.

"Good morning, Professor," said Minerva.

"Good morning, Miss McGonagall. I see that you are up early as usual." Merrythought offered her a smile, gesturing with a nod of her head to the nearly empty tables. "As the Muggles say, the early bird gets the worm. Eager to get started on your classes, are you?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Well, I have your schedule right here," declared Merrythought, extracting a piece of parchment from the pile. "Seven N.E.W.T.s, I believe in total: Defense Against the Dark Arts, naturally, Charms, Potions, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Professor."

"You are cleared to proceed in all subjects, Miss McGonagall. Congratulations. As you can see, your first class today is Charms, then Transfiguration. I will see you tomorrow for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Thank you, Professor. Have a nice day." Minerva moved aside to allow a seventh year Ravenclaw to speak with his Head of House. Taking a seat at the Gryffindor table, she buttered a slice of toast and poured herself a cup of tea. Eventually, as the sky overhead continued to brighten, her housemates joined her, yawning and complaining about waking far too early. Eight o'clock classes were declared to be nothing less than torture. Edward showed up halfway through breakfast and devoured half a plate of sausages before uttering more than a grumbled hello.

After breakfast, the Gryffindors trooped back upstairs to retrieve their bookbags. Minerva and Edward, along with several other sixth years, headed to Charms. Professor Tofty spent the first forty-five minutes discussing the syllabus and course aims for the year. He then asked them to perform a series of spells to test their preparedness for the N.E.W.T. level coursework. Charms finished without incidence and the pair spent their morning break discussing the first years. Over the weekend, both of them had escorted the new Gryffindors around Hogwarts, showing them the routes to and from the Great Hall, Gryffindor Tower, and the various classrooms.

"I have Herbology next," said Edward. "Professor Beery told me yesterday that he managed to get a planting of _Helleborus thibetanus_, Chinese hellebore. What do you have?"

"Transfiguration." Minerva glanced at the clock at the end of the corridor. "I should go; I want to be there a few minutes before class starts."

"See you at lunch," he replied. While Edward descended the stairs towards the greenhouses, Minerva climbed up three flights to the sixth floor. She reached the landing to find Charlotte Fleming waiting for her, freckles browned by the summer sun and frizzy hair tied back into a long plait.

The Hufflepuff greeted her warmly, "Hello, Minerva. I thought we could walk to Transfiguration together from here as I was coming from Muggle Studies."

"Good morning, Charlotte." The two girls fell into step, Minerva shortening her stride to accommodate her friend. "How was Muggle Studies? I assume since you are taking the N.E.W.T. level you are still intending to become part of the Ministry's Muggle Relations Bureau."

"Yes, that is my hope and part of the reason I decided to take Muggle Studies, even though I'm Muggleborn. Our first class was interesting. Professor Weasley brought in a yo-yo to show us. We all had such fun trying to make it work. He said we would cover recent Muggle inventions as well as some history this year. Where did you come from?"

"Charms. How was your summer?" asked Minerva. They rounded the corner into the Transfiguration corridor.

"Good. Luke, my oldest brother, was married in July. I was one of the bridesmaids." They approached the classroom, noticing Professor Dumbledore standing in the doorway.

"Good morning, students," he said. A pair of half-moon glasses perched on his nose and reflected the sunlight back into their eyes.

"Good morning, Professor," the girls responded politely, although Minerva's voice was quite a bit stronger than Charlotte's. They passed by Dumbledore into the classroom and heard him repeat the salutation to another arriving student. The bay windows on the left-hand side illuminated the twenty five desks awaiting them, arranged in a five by five configuration. Whirling, humming, and gleaming instruments rested on the broad windowsills while a chalkboard, already covered in writing and diagrams, stood at the front of the room to one side of the teacher's desk. At the sight of the chalkboard, Charlotte groaned quietly.

"Minerva, I can't read his handwriting. Would you help me?" she requested, keeping her voice low. Minerva scrutinized the tightly spaced and spidery instructions.

"Of course, Charlotte. I recognize the spell. It's something Professor Forsythe had me attempt last year," replied Minerva. "I can barely decipher his handwriting myself." Selecting the second row seat closest to the windows, she sat down. Charlotte chose the place next to her.

"Hello, Charlotte, Minerva," said John Hamilton, a Gryffindor, as he commandeered the seat in front of Minerva. His friend, Herbert Smith of Hufflepuff, took the desk in front of Charlotte. The remainder of the class filtered in behind them. Four Ravenclaws and two Slytherins filled out the first and second rows, bringing the count to ten sixth years with the qualifications and determination to continue to the N.E.W.T. level. The Slytherins elected to sit against the wall which left the Ravenclaws four seats together in the middle. In preparation for the lesson, Minerva placed her copy of A_ Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ on her desk along with a roll of parchment, quill, an ink bottle, and her wand.

With a click, Dumbledore closed the door and walked to the front of the room. He surveyed the students for a moment before speaking.

"Good morning once again. Welcome to N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration. Allow me to properly introduce myself. My full, and I might add rather long-winded, name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Please feel free to forget the middle parts. I find myself enjoying the simplicity of Professor Dumbledore." He paused, smiling at them. Minerva caught her fellow students exchanging glances of slight befuddlement at this unusual introduction. "As Headmaster Dippet mentioned, I will be replacing Professor Forsythe who has left to enjoy a well-earned retirement with his wife. Now, I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to introduce yourselves."

Opposite from Minerva, a Slytherin prefect rose to his feet, polished silver badge glistening against the finest black silk magic could fashion and money could buy. With an abbreviated bow, he stated crisply, "Abraxas Malfoy, sir, at your service."

"Boreas Parkinson," said the other Slytherin, rising in place behind Abraxas. His pinched features caused him to appear disgruntled with the world as did his nasal voice. The Ravenclaws gave their names as Agnes Baker, Mable Edgecombe, Beatrice MacDougal and Orion Turner. Herbert and Charlotte took their turns, leaving the Gryffindors for last.

"I'm John Hamilton, Professor."

"Minerva McGonagall. It is an honor to meet you, Professor Dumbledore."

"Thank you, Miss McGonagall. It is a pleasure to be here," Dumbledore responded politely. "I look forward to exploring the mysteries of Transfiguration with this class over the course of the next two years. I realize that you may be accustomed to Professor Forsythe's manner of teaching and may find mine distinctly different in some ways. I ask therefore for your patience and a certain amount of flexibility as I develop my own methods."

"For today's lesson, I would like you to attempt the spell on the blackboard." Pointing his wand at a case resting atop his desk, Dumbledore levitated pewter goblets and deposited one on each student's desk. "Your goal is to fill the goblet as close to the brim as possible without overflowing. One of the objects of N.E.W.T. level courses is to become adept at nonverbal spells so I ask that you do not speak the incantation aloud. In addition, please refrain from asking for help from your classmates or from providing any help if asked. On these first tries, I would like to observe your spellwork without interference to obtain a sense of your abilities and your current level of proficiency. Begin whenever you are ready." He looked expectantly at them as they read the instructions. When Beatrice lifted her wand, he moved closer to her to watch. Minerva skimmed the directions once more before turning to Charlotte.

"The incantation is Aguamenti with emphasis on the 'Ah' and on the 'men,'" she advised Charlotte. Taking up her wand, Minerva performed the spell silently. Water poured from the tip into the goblet until she tugged her wand away, halting the flow just below the brim.

"Your turn, Charlotte," said Minerva. With a final glance at the board, she summarized the information listed there. "Remember to annunciate properly in your head and to concentrate on the goal. Concentrate on filling the cup with water to the brim and no further. You should visualize the volume of water needed and try to conjure only that much. It might – "

"Miss McGonagall?" Dumbledore's voice startled the pair. Charlotte wrenched her head up with a little gasp as her face paled. Managing to prevent herself from jerking as well, Minerva met Dumbledore's gaze with reasonable equanimity. He moved to stand in the gap between their two desks.

"Yes, Professor?" Minerva asked.

"I understand your desire to help your friend, Miss McGonagall. However, I specifically asked everyone to attempt this spell without aid from other students. If Miss Fleming has any difficulty with the spell, I would be the more appropriate person to assist her."

"Miss Fleming," he shifted to address the Hufflepuff girl, "did you ask Miss McGonagall to help you?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, not meeting his eyes. Minerva stepped closer to Charlotte and drew Dumbledore's attention back to herself.

"But I was the one who agreed to help." In her peripheral vision, Minerva saw that the rest of the class had paused in their work to watch. "I take the responsibility for my actions."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to deduct five points from Gryffindor in that case," Dumbledore said gravely.

"Yes, sir."

"If everyone else could please return to work?" The other students hurriedly abandoned their staring at Dumbledore's order. "Miss Fleming, Miss McGonagall, I suggest you do the same." He turned to leave, but halted at Minerva's words.

"Professor, I've already completed the assignment," she announced, presenting her goblet to him. Surprised, he plucked it from her grasp and examined the contents.

"Nonverbally?" he queried.

"Yes, Professor," was the curt response, spoken through pursed lips. Minerva waited impatiently for his reaction.

"Well done then, Miss McGonagall. You can use your textbook as a reference to progress to the next step." At that moment, Mable Edgecombe shouted "Professor!" as her wand started shooting out spurts of muddy green slime. Dumbledore returned the goblet to Minerva and hastened over to Mable to correct the problem.

Casting a scorching glance at his back, Minerva yanked her textbook open to the appropriate page. A muttered Vanishing Spell cleared the cup of water. For the remainder of the class, she worked through the Conjuring of salt water and advanced to transfiguring the conjured water into other liquids. She did not even bother showing her results to Dumbledore. Charlotte, who had resorted to staining to read the board or her textbook and demurred from asking the professor for aid, eventually filled her glass moments before the bell rang. Neither girl wasted any time escaping the classroom.

"Minerva?" murmured Charlotte as they descended the staircase, "I'm sorry I landed you in trouble. I should have said something about…" She flushed and continued in an even softer tone, "about my difficulty."

"It's alright," Minerva reassured her quickly. "You should not have to blurt it out in front of the entire class. He should have been informed by Professor Forsythe and taken it into account. Besides, I can easily make up those points in Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon," she declared. "Are you taking N.E.W.T. Care of Magical Creatures?"

"Yes, I received an Exceeds Expectations on my O.W.L. and it has always been one of my favorite classes." Charlotte cheered up a bit, anticipating the afternoon class. "Professor Kettleburn told me on Saturday that the merpeople will allow us to interact with a hippocampus for our first lesson." As they entered the Great Hall, several of Charlotte's housemates called her to sit with them. "Excuse me, Minerva."

"I'll see you later," said Minerva, continuing on to the Gryffindor table. Encamped in the middle, Edward waved at her. She threaded her way to find a seat reserved for her amidst the rest of the sixth years.

"Min, tell them that I'm telling the truth," beseeched John who had beaten her to lunch. "They don't believe that Dumbledore told you off for helping Charlotte and took away five points from Gryffindor."

"Don't call me Min, John," Minerva demanded exasperatedly, "Unless you want all your robes permanently charmed pink and your boots transfigured into ballet shoes."

"Sorry, Minerva, but I am telling the truth, right?" John looked less than apologetic while the rest of the group fixated on Minerva.

"Yes. I'll earn those points back during my next class. That's all I'm saying about it." Ignoring their pleas for her to elaborate, Minerva requested, "Esther, please pass the sandwiches and lemonade." Throughout lunch, Minerva refused to participate in the discussion, at times becoming a debate, about Professor Dumbledore. Instead, she ate her lunch and departed to exchange her Transfiguration and Charms books for _Magical Creatures & Beasts: An Advanced Handbook._

In Care of Magical Creatures, she recovered her spirits when the hippocampus drenched Edward with a playful swish of its tail. He shook himself like a dog, laughing through a dripping curtain of bangs. Luckily, Minerva had mastered the shield charm and was thus able to stay dry. She also regained the five lost points for Gryffindor with an additional five for good measure.

* * *

"Professor Dumbledore, how have you found teaching so far?" Artemisia Rosier directed her inquiry to him as he entered the staffroom. Something in her manner of speaking caused the newest teacher to pause before replying. Enthroned beside the fireplace, the greens flecks in her hazel eyes shone, complimenting the embroidery at the throat, waist, sleeves, and hem of her light charcoal robe. Her hair, dark russet with a single startling streak of white, lay coiled at the base of her neck.

"Very rewarding, and please call me Albus. I had a bit of trouble in my sixth year N.E.W.T. class, which surprised me, but otherwise the day has been going well I believe." He collected a glass of iced pumpkin juice and settled opposite Rosier in an overstuffed armchair.

"Sixth year," remarked Rosier, fixing him with an appraising look. "That is unusual. Many of our best students are part of that class and they rarely misbehave." She lifted a china cup to her lips, sipped, and set it down with a delicate _chink_ on its saucer on a side table.

"It was a minor incident, Professor Rosier."

"Artermisia is fine, Albus, as we are colleagues," she answered. "My fifth year Gryffindors related their version of events to me after lunch. Of course, they relied upon another student's account which was probably then extravagated and improvised upon by my students. I was particularly astonished when they claimed Miss McGonagall was one of the students involved."

"She disregarded my instructions. I confronted her, she admitted it, and I deducted five points from Gryffindor. I thought it was a fair punishment," Dumbledore explained. "May I ask why her involvement surprises you?"

"She disregarded your instructions?" Rosier pondered this briefly and continued, "In her three years in my class, I have never had to discipline Miss McGonagall. I don't believe any teacher has ever taken points from her for misbehavior in class. I confess I am curious. How exactly did she disobey?"

"I had specified that everyone was to work individually without consulting other students. Miss McGonagall ignored my directions and was providing help to Miss Fleming. However, she took the responsibility upon herself without blaming Miss Fleming despite the fact that her friend had asked for help. I considered deducting points from Miss Fleming as well, but it seemed excessive and unnecessary. Miss Fleming appeared sufficiently chastised without taking points."

"And Miss McGonagall did not, I assume?" solicited Rosier, leisurely rising to refill her teacup.

"No, she seemed quite unapologetic." Dumbledore frowned, "almost defiant, although she did not say or do anything else inappropriate. She didn't speak again for the remainder of the period, simply worked. On the other hand, she proved to be rather gifted in Transfiguration, as far as I observed." A brief silence followed, the only sounds being the splash of milk into Rosier's tea and the muffled clinks of her spoon against the inside of the cup.

Lost in his recollection of the episode, Dumbledore missed the comment Rosier made as she retook her seat. He asked, "Excuse me, I was inattentive. Would you be so kind as to repeat that?"

Rosier smiled graciously, "No apology is required, Albus. I remember my first day of teaching; a bout of absentmindedness afterwards is entirely understandable. I said that you were correct on both counts."

"Both counts?"

"Miss McGonagall is most assuredly talented in Transfiguration. In truth, she is exceptional in a number of subjects including Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, my own specialty of Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. On her O.W.L.s, she received ten Outstandings. In addition to her academic accomplishments, she is the most likely candidate for Head Girl next year." Rosier traced the rim of her teacup, lowering her gaze momentarily, and then focused it again on Dumbledore. The Transfiguration Professor shifted in his seat.

"As to the former, as to Miss McGonagall being unapologetic, I suspect you are right. I doubt she believes that she has done anything wrong. She admitted her actions and claimed responsibility for them, but neither regretted them or felt the need to apologize."

"Do you know why?" Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, puzzlement on his features. "If she has never done this sort of thing before and is obviously thought of highly by the staff, why would she act this way towards me today?"

"Because she believes her actions were proper." His confusion increased. Setting aside her cup, Rosier clarified her statement. "Miss Fleming has a medical condition that makes reading difficult. In Wizarding children, the problem is usually caught and remedied at an early age. Unfortunately, Miss Fleming is Muggleborn and past the age at which it can be cured. The staff failed to diagnosis her condition until her third year. She attempted to take Ancient Runes which inadvertently allowed us to perceive exactly what was wrong. When I would ask her to copy a certain rune or series of runes, parts would often be reversed or misplaced. I believe the condition is known as dyslexia in the Muggle world."

"While Miss Fleming chose to drop Ancient Runes in favor of Muggle Studies, she has worked exceptionally hard to overcome her disability and succeeded. The staff has adjusted their teaching to help her whenever possible. The other professors usually ensure that any written instructions for her classes are clear and printed in a larger size than normal and frequently use verbal examinations in place of essays."

Rosier continued, "A few of the students may quietly read directions to her if she has trouble. Miss McGonagall has been assisting her in this fashion since they were first years. As long as Miss Fleming's helpers do not give her any information beyond that which the rest of the class receives, the professors allow them to do this without interference. In that manner, Miss Fleming does not have to interrupt class which might embarrass her and would place an uncomfortable focus on her disability."

"And Miss McGonagall would not have betrayed her friend's trust by enlightening me of this in front of the other students," Dumbledore guessed with a heavy sigh. He clasped his hands on his knees. "I misjudged the situation entirely."

"I presume you were not previously notified about Miss Fleming?" queried Rosier.

"Professor Forsythe left me some notes on the students, but I wanted to form my own opinions of them first," he confessed. "I was meaning to read the notes on today's students this evening. Miss McGonagall probably assumed that I did know and was deliberately being callous and insensitive."

"Your intentions were good, Albus. Your mistake was made out of ignorance rather than malice." Rosier stood, placing her cup and saucer on the sideboard for the house-elves to clean. "I promised to firecall a friend at Gringotts before dinner to confirm a translation of a curse he has made. Please enjoy the rest of your free period."

"Artemisia?" Dumbledore caught her at the door. "Do you have any advice on how I can rectify my mistake? I realize that I should apologize to Miss McGonagall and to Miss Fleming, however…"

"If you explain your actions and apologize, I expect that will be sufficient. Neither of them are unreasonable or resentful girls. I would suggest that you speak with them in private, but I would also advise that you not delay the conversation. As I mentioned, the story has already spread. It might cause problems unless nipped in the bud. Good day, Albus."

"Good day, Artemisia." When the door thudded closed behind the witch, Dumbledore had already resolved to speak with the two girls as soon as possible. He finished his pumpkin juice and left the staffroom. If they were not currently in class, he might be able to find them in the library or outside.

* * *

During dinner, a fourth year came up to Minerva and said, "Professor Dumbledore asked me to give this to you." She handed over a small scroll.

"Thank you," Minerva replied.

"You're welcome." The younger student darted over to her friends as Minerva considered the parchment in her palm.

"Open it already," said Edward who was sitting next to her. Some of her nearby housemates leaned closer, having overheard that it was from Dumbledore.

"No, I'll wait until after dinner," she decided. The scroll was tucked into a pocket. If she opened it at the table, she would be unable to eat in peace until she had disclosed its contents. It couldn't contain anything urgent; otherwise, Dumbledore would have used a more direct method. Finishing her meal as expediently as possible, Minerva ducked into an empty classroom to read the note.

She unfurled the scroll to reveal a succinct message: _Miss McGonagall, please come by my office after dinner, six forty-five if convenient. I wish to discuss this morning's class with you. Cordially, Professor Albus Dumbledore._ Rerolling the parchment, Minerva's aggravation mounted as she considered the possibilities. Perhaps he sought to reproach her further on her behavior? Or even conceivably assign her a detention? She paced the classroom, the sharp _rap tap_ of her boots echoing. No, no, she would not allow him to harangue her without challenge. If he refused to listen, continued to behave without any consideration or fairness, she would have to ask Professor Tofty or Professor Merrythought to intervene. There was no excuse for his treatment of Charlotte.

"Dong, ding, dong!" pealed the bell to announce the half hour. Minerva halted abruptly; she had lost track of time in her vexation. She swept her robes into order and straightened the prefect badge before leaving the classroom. As she ascended the staircase, Minerva recited the twenty-four runes of Elder Futhark under her breath.

"Ingwaz, ophila, dagaz," she concluded outside the office Professor Forsythe had occupied during his tenure. Assuming Dumbledore had kept the office, Minerva knocked three times on the door and waited for permission to enter.

She hurriedly stepped backward when the door swung open. Surprised, she found herself face to face with Professor Dumbledore. "Good evening, Professor," Minerva blurted out.

"Come in please, Miss McGonagall," he said with a gesture for her to precede him into the office. Minerva immediately noticed major alterations in the room: more shimmering instruments inside the cabinets including what appeared to be a Pensieve, a prevalence of vibrant accent colors rather than the muted hues Forsythe had preferred, an increase in paraphernalia, and an overall sensation of liveliness instead of quiet retreat. Yet she admitted, although it did not suit her taste, the entire arrangement still managed not to be too chaotic or overwhelming by limiting the colors to shades of red and gold and not cluttering the room with excessive furniture.

"Please have a seat, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore offered. When she had done so, he opted to sit beside her rather than behind the desk. She held herself stiffly, not allowing her spine to touch the back of the chair. Her eyes tracked his movements in a combination of wariness and vexation. "First, I think I should assure you that you have nothing about which to be concerned. I did not request your presence to reprimand or punish you further. Quite the opposite in fact." Minerva arched a brow in silent question. With a rueful grimace, he continued, "I was made aware that my response to the situation in class this morning was erroneous. In my defense, I acted without any malicious intent, an assertion which I hope you will credit once I explain myself."

"When I overheard you helping Miss Fleming, I believed you were simply disregarding my instructions. I thought that you might be testing the boundaries of a new professor and I reacted on that supposition. It was a faulty supposition which was, as is all too common, founded on a flawed understanding of the situation and the people involved."

"In speaking with Professor Rosier this afternoon, I discovered my mistake. She apprised me of Miss Fleming's impairment of which I was previously ignorant due to my own oversight. Professor Forsythe provided me with notes on my students. However, I had refrained from reading them as I wished to be unbiased when I met my classes for the first time. I have now begun reading those notes. Professor Rosier also mentioned that you regularly assisted Miss Fleming."

He paused to judge the effect of his account on his student. Her posture had relaxed somewhat, her gaze had lost its accusatory quality, and her lips were not longer clamped tightly shut as if to prevent rash words from spilling out.

Glad to see she seemed to be accepting his explanation, Dumbledore continued, "I realized that I owed you and Miss Fleming an apology for my actions. I have already spoken with Miss Fleming. Since I failed to locate you before dinner, I asked Miss Hopkirk to deliver my message to you as I did not want to intrude. Additionally, I have restored the five points I deducted from you. I apologize, Miss McGonagall for my blunder."

"I appreciate the apology, Professor." She replied with a hint of relief, "I expected to be chastised again for my behavior and was ready to argue with you if necessary. If you refused to listen, I was prepared to appeal to Professor Tofty, Charlotte's Head of House."

"You are a very good friend, Miss McGonagall, with a commendable sense of fairness. I must have appeared intolerant and heartless in class."

"To a degree yes, but I'm afraid I was not very willing to grant you the benefit of the doubt," conceded Minerva as she recalled her own thoughts about Dumbledore and how quick she had been to think ill of him. "If you did not know about Charlotte, I can understand your reactions, Professor. Perhaps, we could simply agree to start over, so to speak?"

"An excellent idea, Miss McGonagall, and one with which I would be happy to comply." His hand extended, he said, "Professor Albus Dumbledore, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Minerva McGonagall, it's an honor sir," she answered, shaking his hand in a firm grip. His smile reached his eyes, brilliant azure behind the frames. Minerva found herself responding to it with a small grin.

"How do you like Transfiguration, Miss McGonagall?" solicited Dumbledore. "In his notes, Professor Forsythe writes that you were one of his most talented students with true passion for the discipline. I hope that has not changed."

"No, sir, I still find Transfiguration to be a fascinating area of study," replied Minerva. "I am particularly interested in Human Transfiguration along with Conjuring spells involving living creatures."

"How far did Professor Forsythe take you into the N.E.W.T. material? He attached a summary of your progress and a list of spells, but I have not had the time to read it yet."

"We finished the standard Conjuring spells through mammals and Professor Forsythe started to introduce me to Human Transfiguration theory. I attempted one or two minor Human Transfigurations under his supervision at the end of the year."

"Were they successful?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes, sir. "

"Professor Rosier did say you were exceptional," he mused. Minerva's cheeks reddened and she looked away for a second. "I would be delighted to work with you on a personal basis to permit you to continue at your own pace."

"Thank you, Professor," Minerva acceded with a nod. "I complete the required assignments as well of course. May I ask you a question?"

"I believe you just did, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore quipped, earning him an unimpressed look from her. "You may ask as many questions as you wish."

"When I researched you over the weekend, I learned that your Mastery is in Potions, not Transfiguration. I apologize if I violated your privacy, but I was wondering –"

"- why I am teaching Transfiguration?" he concluded the question. "I am not offended, Miss McGonagall, by the research or the question. Your curiosity is natural and I applaud your diligence in seeking out answers. My Mastery is indeed in Potions, but I have spent a great deal of time studying alchemy which demands a comprehensive knowledge of Transfiguration. During my school years, I enjoyed Potions and Transfiguration equally and would have been content to teach either. When I heard that Professor Forsythe planned to retire, I approached Headmaster Dippet about applying for the post. Does that answer your question satisfactorily?"

"Yes, thank you Professor."

Consulting his watch, Dumbledore remarked, "I'm afraid any other questions will have to be put aside for later. Our House meeting starts in a few minutes. Would you walk with me? In my absence, some of the staircases and hallways have shifted positions or developed new quirks – I spent twenty minutes stranded on one staircase until a third year hopped on the steps in the proper order – and I would be grateful for the company of a current student to show me the most direct route."

"Certainly, Professor," Minerva agreed. They rose and Dumbledore opened the door for her. "That must have been the western staircase between the sixth and fourth floors near the library. The staircase refuses to let you move forwards unless you perform the steps in right sequence. It changes the pattern every term. It has become a competition of sorts to be the first to decipher the code."

"Who won this term?"

"One of the Ravenclaw prefects, Florence Cooper, recognized the previous patterns as simple tunes played using the middle C and its surrounding notes on a piano. This term it chose 'Good King Wenceslas.'"

"I shall have to revisit this musical staircase. 'Good King Wenceslas' happens to be one of my favorite carols," declared Dumbledore. He hummed a couple of bars softly. At Minerva's stare, he said, "I have been strongly advised never to sing by myself. My brother employed the description 'tone-deaf yowling' the last time I sang a solo in his presence."

"I see," she replied simply. He smiled and continued humming until they reached the Fat Lady.

* * *

Did you know that reviews are excellent stocking stuffers? Review please.


	3. Chapter 3

Queen of Swords: Chapter 3

Setting: Hogwarts 1933

The Quidditch stands vibrated with the boisterous hurrahs of Gryffindor House as the Quaffle evaded the opposing Keeper and sailed through the middle hoop. In one voice, the Hufflepuffs moaned, but renewed their support with earsplitting shouts and whistles. A toss catapulted the Quaffle back into play, sending the goldenrod and scarlet figures soaring across the pitch like the autumn leaves blown hither and thither by the chilly October wind. At least, a casual observer might perceive their flying as such. To the trained eye, however, their movements played out according to specific tactics and maneuvers.

From the Slytherin section, Abraxas Malfoy watched the Hufflepuff Chasers intercept the Quaffle. The configuration morphed, Gryffindors tightening ranks while the Hufflepuffs took the offensive in a burst of speed. A Bludger hurtled in direction of the arrowhead of Chasers to be met by a _thack_ of hardened wood as the yellow-clad Clarke protected his teammates. Matterson, gold lettering proclaiming his captaincy of the lions, dived to belt the Bludger back towards his targets.

"And Matterson scatters the Hufflepuff Chasers, but wait, it looks like Fenwick managed to hang onto the Quaffle!" The commentator, Veronica Marchbanks, hollered into the microphone as she held it in one hand and pounded on the railing with the other.

"Fenwick races to the Gryffindor goalposts, passes to Smith – capture it Lynch! – back to Fenwick. It's all up to Potter now! Come on, block it!" Fenwick threw. The Quaffle shrieked as it careened towards the hoops. The crowd exploded.

"Yes, Potter caught the Quaffle!" yelled Veronica. "He tosses it to McGonagall – who passes it to Lynch - Clarke sends a Bludger their way, nice dodge Lynch! Passes to Gamp!" Abraxas ignored the noise to focus on the Gryffindor Chasers. The trio, along with Potter, had joined the team three years ago as third and second years. Together, they formed the backbone of Gryffindor's success on the pitch, practicing their coordination and communication until they flew as a unit rather than separate individuals. With the addition of Donnelly as Seeker and Etherington as the second Beater the previous year, Gryffindor had developed into the best House team. Ravenclaw had beaten them by only a handful of points last year and those points had been lost when Gamp was unable to play due to a case of Scrofungulus. If he aspired to lead Slytherin to victory, he had to find a weakness in their teamwork or in their tactics.

"And they're heading for the goalposts, McGonagall with the Quaffle – she swoops low coming in to shoot – no, no, a toss to Gamp, Watson tries to seize the Quaffle and misses, tough luck – Gamp throws it up – McGonagall catches, throws, Keeper Murray lunges – ANOTHER GOAL FOR GRYFFINDOR! Score 120 to 30, Gryffindor in the lead!"

Murray lobbed the Quaffle to his teammates who streaked off down the pitch. Above the action, the Seekers flitted across the pitch, searching for the Snitch. Richardson favored circling the pitch along the outside while Donnelly zipped from one side to the other diagonally.

"Smith has the Quaffle, reverse pass to Fenwick – Griffiths beats off a Bludger – drop pass to Watson – oooh he fumbles – Lynch catches – Look at Donnelly! She must have seen the Snitch!" Plummeting, the Gryffindor Seeker stretched out one hand as Richardson raced to catch her. The students launched to their feet, rooting for a capture. Hovering, the rest of the fliers waited for the outcome.

"If Hufflepuff catches the Snitch –" started Parkinson at Abraxas' elbow.

"Donnelly is ahead and has the better broom," Abraxas interrupted him. "Richardson can't outfly her now. The only chance Hufflepuff had of winning the game was Richardson spotting the Snitch before Donnelly and before Gryffindor could achieve a gap of more than one hundred and fifty points."

"And Donnelly is pulling ahead, come on, come on, she's almost there, just a few more inches, COME ON!" The Snitch wove between the goalposts, Donnelly swerved and –

"Donnelly gets the Snitch! She got it! GRYFFINDOR WINS! 270 to 30! GRYFFINDOR WINS!" In a screaming stampede of scarlet and gold, Gryffindor House descended upon the pitch to congratulate their team. Upon landing, the two teams managed to shake hands before the other students besieged them. Hufflepuffs climbed down more slowly, followed by the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Abraxas, however, remained in the stands. In his mind, he replayed the key moments of the game. There had to be a weakness, a weakness Fenwick, the Hufflepuff Captain, either missed or failed to exploit. Once the teams retreated to the changing rooms, the mass of students, including Abraxas, trooped inside. As he pulled off his calfskin gloves, Abraxas resolved to assemble the Slytherin team that night. He had no intention of allowing Gryffindor to win unchallenged.

* * *

"Miss McGonagall, how fortunate!" Minerva froze, her quill raised. In the hushed library, Slughorn's exclamation caused everyone to wrench their heads up. Ambling across the space to her alcove table, the Potions Professor grinned broadly at the young witch. Minerva gritted her teeth and steeled herself to remain polite. "I was hoping to run into you!"

"Professor Slughorn," she murmured. "Can I help you?"

"Well, I have a very important question to ask you," Slughorn replied without lowering his voice. "Yes, _very_ important." Over his shoulder, she saw the other students still watching them.

"Professor, could we move this outside? Please," she requested curtly. Minerva didn't wait for him to respond, but stood and exited the library, Slughorn following. Moving away from the library entrance a bit, Minerva halted. "What was your question, Professor?"

"My question, yes, I meant to ask you after class earlier, but you scampered off so quickly," he chortled, "Now, my question, Miss McGonagall, is actually more of than invitation. I'm having a little get-together in my chambers after the feast tonight. Nothing grand, you understand, just a few _special_ students and acquaintances. I would like very much for you to attend. Several of my friends have expressed a desire to meet with you…Roland Yaxley, Head of the Magical Catastrophes I might add, or Lucinda MacDougal, her family owns a line of household devices used by every witch in Britain…I would be pleased to introduce you to them."

"Thank you for the invitation, Professor, but I have an appointment with Professor Rosier," Minerva replied.

"On Halloween? Oh, I'msure Artemisia would allow you to reschedule if I asked her." Slughorn leaned back, hands tucked into his waistcoat. "Yes, yes, I'm _absolutely_ certain she would. I'll just mention it to her during the feast."

"Professor –" she began, meaning to protest.

"Now, don't worry about it, Miss McGonagall," interrupted Slughorn. "I'll take care of everything. It's your future we are talking about here and I'm positive Artemisia will understand. I'll just speak with her over dinner and arrange it."

"Professor, may I return to my studies? I have an essay I would like to finish before the feast." Minerva glanced towards the library before returning her attention to Slughorn, her expression determined.

"Ah well…I suppose so. You're very dedicated to your education, Miss McGonagall, a trait which will no doubt allow you to go far. Yes, go ahead. I'll have a chat with Artemisia, and I daresay she will grant you permission to attend tonight. I look forward to seeing you there, Miss McGonagall," Slughorn said.

"Thank you, Professor," responded Minerva with a brusque nod. She strode away from him, returning to her alcove in the library. Realizing she needed another reference, Minerva climbed the winding staircase to the second floor stacks. In the amber glow of the lamps, the scripted letters along the spines glittered. The time smoothed bindings passed beneath her trailing fingertips. Reverently, she slipped a book from the shelf, _A Compendium of Transfiguration Theory and Experimental Spellwork. _While charms prevented dust or decay, the scent of aged paper still lingered as she opened the book. The spine crackled when she turned to the index and Minerva smiled at the sound.

From the end of the row, Abraxas observed the smile. She would never be called beautiful, but the smile caused her to appear striking, even handsome perhaps. He could never recall having seen her sable hair loose, always braided and caught up neatly. Combined with her formidable abilities and intellect, it was a pity she had not been born to an at least halfway respectable Wizarding family. Nonetheless, he granted that she carried herself with the demeanor of an aristocrat, dignified and reserved.

"My mother taught me staring was impolite," Minerva voiced softly, raising her head to meet Abraxas' dark gaze. "Did yours not consider it rude as well, Malfoy? Or are Wizarding standards of behavior different?"

"My apologizes, McGonagall. I assure you that I was not staring at you. I was merely attempting to determine if you were holding the book I desired," answered Malfoy.

"Next time, you might try asking. It would avoid giving the wrong impression."

"What impression would that be, McGonagall?"

"Haunting my footsteps could be interpreted as a wish to spend time in my company. Hardly the appropriate image for a Slytherin pureblood, Malfoy."

"How long have you known I was there?"

"I knew the entire time. Is this the book you wanted?" Minerva showed him the cover. "I only need to copy down a paragraph or two."

"Unfortunately, the book I'm seeking is entitled _A Compendium of Transfiguration: Experimental Theory_, not _A Compendium of Transfiguration Theory and Experimental Spellwork._" He started scanning the shelves while Minerva placed her book on a nearby table. Removing quill, ink, and parchment from her robes, she started to make notes on the relevant passages to her essay on conjuring live creatures.

"Will you be attending Professor Slughorn's party tonight?" inquired Abraxas, continuing to search for his book. "I assume that was the 'very important question' he asked you."

"He did invite me, but I informed him that I have a prior engagement with Professor Rosier."

"Much to his dissatisfaction, I imagine," Abraxas remarked. "It is a pity you cannot attend. He is very selective in the guests he invites and the food is always gourmet."

"Professor Slughorn offered to speak with Professor Rosier to change my appointment. I was unable to dissuade him of trying, but I doubt Professor Rosier will agree," said Minerva. "I shall attempt to conceal my severe disappointment."

"You have avoided Professor Slughorn's gatherings for the past two years. May I ask why? His connections could be useful to you."

As she kept writing, Minerva divulged, "My grandmother collected jewelry boxes, Malfoy. She had dozens of them displayed throughout the house. Some of them were elegant and valuable inset with precious stones and gold or silver. Some of them were quite simple without any adornment whatsoever. They could be metal or wooden, antique or modern, large or small, engraved or plain; she bought one if it struck her fancy for one reason or another. The single attribute they all shared was a uniqueness of some fashion. Some of them had stories attached to the initials inscribed on them. Others were one-of-a-kind creations by master craftsman. An unusual pattern of the wood or style of handles on the drawers could entice her to purchase a box. Of course, those she received from her friends and families were considered special because they reminded her of the giver or of a certain occasion." She halted her quill and looked directly at Malfoy who had ceased his hunt for his book.

"I remember that she would count them, Malfoy. She would line them up and could tell me the story of each one – where she bought it, why she bought it, who owned it before her, what was special about it. Professor Slughorn has a similar habit with the photographs and items in his office. He collects people the way my grandmother collected jewelry books. He enjoys having them in his possession, associating himself with them. Based upon their current status or on their chance of future success, Professor Slughorn singles out those from whom he will be able to benefit. Furthermore, he creates a sense of indebtedness in these individuals by ostensibly helping them to achieve their success and thus rise to positions of influence and usefulness to him." Minerva's jaw clenched as she finished, "I refuse to be collected."

"Is it unfair of him to expect a little repayment if he exerts himself to help you advance?" questioned Abraxas.

"If he offered that assistance to all of his students, I would not object. I could even accept a greater interest in certain students if he treated the rest well. However, he does not. Those who he finds less likely to be useful _to him_, he ignores and consistently devalues. He fails to comprehend their intrinsic worth as human beings. He judges seemingly without any consideration of their character as well." Her cheeks colored with fury as she spoke, her voice fervent despite its muted volume.

"We all deserve an equal chance, Malfoy, and we deserve teachers who do not presume to dictate our futures, setting limits on our achievements prematurely. That is why I decline Professor Slughorn's invitations. I also admit that I believe I can accomplish my goals without accepting aid from him, aid that comes at the price of my self-respect. I am not ignorant of his prejudice against Muggles and Muggleborns. He would help me, of course, but behind my back he would say that I am very gifted _for a Muggleborn_ and that unfortunately my heritage could prove damaging to my future success."

"I see. Yet, you tolerate my presence although you aware of my…disapproval of Muggles and Muggleborns mixing in with pureblood society. Interesting," Abraxas commented.

"You are honest about it, Malfoy. I knew from the beginning of your opinions. As much as I detest prejudice, hypocrisy in addition to that prejudice infuriates me more, because it either denies the prejudice exists or proves that individual willing to set aside his convictions for his own material gain and personal comforts." She inquired, "I am curious, however, why you attend his soirees and lunches? I doubt you need his assistance to elevate your position in society."

"Professor Slughorn has an aptitude for, as you said, choosing people with potential for greatness in some manner or another. I like to be aware of such people, form connections of my own. His parties merely serve as a convenient meeting ground," explained Abraxas.

"I suppose they would," Minerva replied, the scratch of her quill resuming. After several minutes, she twisted her inkwell shut and blew on the parchment to dry her final notes. She rolled the parchment up and tucked it, along with her writing tools, into her pockets. Closing the book, she replaced it on its shelf. As she walked past Malfoy, she casually plucked another book off the shelves.

"I believe this is the one you have been seeking?" she remarked. Minerva set the volume in his hands.

"Thank you, I should have expected you to have the library memorized, considering the amount of time you spend here," he responded.

"You're welcome, Malfoy. I'm pleased I could be of help. Besides, my familiarity might be a factor in my receipt of ten Outstandings on my O.W.L.s. Good afternoon, Malfoy."

"Good afternoon, McGonagall." Since she had moved beyond their row, he was prevented from saying anything further.

Minerva descended the staircase, packed up her things from her table, and departed for Gryffindor Tower. She would deposit her bookbag there before heading down to the feast with Edward.

* * *

"Eek!" Cecilia ducked to avoid a low flying bat. "It was going for my hair!" Stifled laughter escaped her friends to her indignation. "Well, it was!"

"They are harmless, Cecilia," Minerva told her.

"And you did squeak rather loudly," added Edward, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go get seats. I'll protect you from the spooky bats."

"Thank you ever so much," Cecilia drawled as she shoved Edward's arm off. He dropped back to Minerva, allowing Cecilia and Beth Greengrass along with Walter Ashby and John to precede them to the table.

"I think she likes me," he whispered.

"Edward, please tell me you are not going to start acting as you did with Audrey Houston last year."

"How did I act?"

"You sent her half a dozen badly written poems, a bouquet of flowers on Valentine's day, talked about her constantly, need I continue? During the two months of your relationship with her, I could not pry one word of sense out of you." Minerva shook her head and declared, "I refuse to go through that again." They reached the table which curtailed their discussion.

As per usual for Halloween, the Great Hall was bedecked in orange and black. Enormous jack o' lanterns carved with toothy smiles, castles, dragons, and other assorted designs rested on the tables. The flapping of bats' wings could be heard over the chatter of the students in the packed hall. When the dishes and platters appeared, the aroma of pumpkin bread, rosemary chicken, fresh baked pies, and spiced potatoes suffused the chamber. Trays of sugary confections materialized as well.

Minerva occasionally glanced up at the staff table. She caught Slughorn bending down to speak with Professor Rosier at one point. As she watched, he tried to cajole her into agreeing with his proposal. Professor Rosier responded in the negative and pointedly redirected her attention to Professor Tofty. When Slughorn had retreated to his seat, Professor Rosier caught Minerva's gaze and nodded.

"Minerva, Ruth Brauner asked for help with a couple of her classes," Edward said, naming one of the first years. "I thought we could spend some time Saturday afternoon with her."

"Of course. Did she mention which classes she was having the most difficulty in?"

"Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology. I thought you could take the first two and I would take Herbology. She told me she had trouble casting spells." He glanced down the table to where the waifish girl sat among the rest of the first years. "I feel sorry for her, having to pack up and move to another country because you're not wanted in your homeland any more. She's so quiet all the time."

"Her older sister, Deborah, is in Ravenclaw, a fourth year. She eats breakfast with Ruth every day and that seems to help. I've also noticed that Walter's little sister, Emily, has become friends with her," Minerva mentioned. "Her problem with spell casting could be a result of a lack of confidence. She just may need a little extra encouragement and practice."

"You're probably right. Have you finished Professor Kettleburn's essay on Graphorns?"

"I completed it Sunday night."

He groaned theatrically, "And it's not due until tomorrow. You make everyone else look lazy, Minerva."

"Perhaps, but you don't seem to mind my study habits when you want to borrow my notes or have me edit your paper."

"Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Read through my essay when it's done?" pleaded Edward.

"Alright, as long as you finish it by eleven. I have patrol at nine thirty which means I should be back to the Tower by ten thirty." Minerva reached into the crystal bowl of sweets beside them, selecting a piece wrapped in silver and black with the Honeydukes label. Carefully, she slipped the outer covering off to unfold the inner foil. Tiny slivers of chocolate fell into her palm as she broke off a corner. A rich bitterness, scarcely dulled by the sugar, flooded her taste buds. Minerva refused to shorten the experience by biting into the chocolate; instead, she allowed it to leisurely melt.

Edward shuddered, "I don't understand how you can eat that stuff. It's too bitter." He grabbed two caramels, unwrapped them, and tossed them into his mouth.

"You are lucky your mother insisted upon dental protection charms. With the amount of sugar you consume, you would have rotten your teeth straight through otherwise," she countered. Half of the chocolate remained which Minerva reinserted into its wrapping and slipped it into her robe. "I'll eat the rest of this on patrol tonight."

A rendition of the school song finished the Halloween feast. Bonbons secreted in robes and bags, the students headed for their respective dormitories. In the Entrance Hall, Benjy Fenwick caught up with them.

"Minerva," he said, "I wanted to let you know that I'll be with you on patrol tonight."

"I thought Blanche was partnered with me," replied Minerva.

"She was, but she felt sick." He assured them hastily, "It's nothing serious. She said her stomach was a little queasy earlier today and that she had not been able to sleep well last night. I told her I would take her patrol. Which professor is in charge tonight?"

"Professor Merrythought. Shall we meet in her office at nine fifteen?"

"That sounds fine to me."

"Benjy," Edward interjected, "You played a good game on Saturday. I meant to say it earlier, but I didn't have the chance."

"Thank you, you too," Fenwick answered. "I knew we probably wouldn't win, but we tried our best and played clean so I'm proud of my team. I'll see you later, Minerva."

"Please tell Blanche that I hope she feels better soon," she added.

"I'll tell her." He rejoined the trail of Hufflepuffs descending the staircase to their common room next to the kitchens. Minerva accompanied Edward to the staircase.

"Don't procrastinate or I won't check your essay," she reminded him.

He waited until he was several steps up to reply. "You know, Minerva, you would make a terrific teacher. You have already mastered the right tone and phrases." He scampered away before she could respond.

"Somebody is going to wake up to find their sweets transfigured into vegetables. I, of course, will plead total ignorance of the affair," muttered Minerva to herself. She traversed the Entrance Hall, strode down the corridor of mostly unused classrooms, and stopped in front of a portrait of the enchantress Vivien. Clothed in an emerald gown, the enchantress smiled at her approach. A full moon hung in the painted sky, mirrored in the lake at Vivien's feet.

"A blessed Samhain night to you, my daughter," proclaimed Vivien.

"And to you, lady," Minerva answered. "Would you please inform Professor Rosier that I am here?" With a graceful bend of her head, Vivien disappeared from her frame. Almost immediately, she returned and the portrait swung outwards to reveal Professor Rosier.

"Good evening, Professor."

"Good evening. Please come in, Miss McGonagall," said Rosier. She guided her student to a seating arrangement by the fireplace, two wing chairs with a low table positioned between them. In keeping with her position as Slytherin Head, her quarters were decorated in shades of silver and green, complimented by elegant dark wood furniture. One of the other doors led to a staircase which ended outside the Slytherin common room. A stained glass window filtered the starlight and cast patterns on the floor.

Once Minerva was seated, Rosier levitated a chessboard from a bookcase to the table. The pieces did not even quiver as the chessboard glided across the room. Crafted from ebony and snowy maple, gold outlined the squares while the pieces stood several centimeters tall. Each figure possessed a unique facade with detailed attire and accoutrements: hinged armor for the knight, a flowing mane for his horse, arched windows for the castle, a rosary and cross necklace for the bishop, a girdle and filigree circlet for the queen, a scepter and crown for the king.

"Would you prefer black or white?" she solicited, the board hovering above the tabletop.

"White please, Professor." Rosier rotated the board until the proper side faced Minerva.

"Tea, Miss McGonagall?"

"Yes, Professor, thank you." As Rosier fixed the tea, Minerva addressed her pieces. "Good evening."

"Good evening, mademoiselle," replied the white king, bowing to her. "We are honored to be your chosen champions in this endeavor."

"Thank you, sir. I shall try to do well by you and your comrades." She accepted a cup and saucer from Rosier. "Thank you, Professor." A sip confirmed that the Slytherin Head had remembered how she liked her tea, a detail most people would have forgotten or never bothered to remember.

"You're welcome, Miss McGonagall. Shall we begin?"

In lieu of reply, Minerva directed, "Pawn, D2 to D4." Ten or fifteen minutes passed without further conversation while the game progressed. Both sides surrendered a pawn, and then Minerva lost one of her knights.

As she considered her next move, Rosier commented, "Professor Slughorn accosted me during the feast to ask that I release you from our engagement this evening in order that you may attend his party. Obviously, I declined to oblige him."

"Yes, Professor." Minerva's eyes darted from the chessboard to Professor Rosier and back to the chessboard.

"You were aware of his intention to put forward the request?"

"Yes, Professor, he invited me this afternoon. I informed him that I had an appointment with you. Castle, A3 to C3." The castle slid to the space as ordered and Rosier followed with a swift move of her knight.

"Given your experience with his persistence in the past, you perhaps decided to might be easier to allow me to handle him," Rosier surmised. "Am I correct?"

"Not precisely, Professor. I did not intend to place you in any sort of awkward position, but I thought that he would be forced to accept your refusal and could not pressure you." Minerva bid a pawn move a step forward.

"Knight to G4," commanded Rosier, taking the pawn. Minerva's eyes raked the board. She had missed that threat. "You must try to maintain your concentration on the game despite our conversation or any other distractions."

"Yes, Professor. I apologize if Professor Slughorn bothered you." Minerva admitted, "To be honest, Professor, I was very close to losing my temper at him."

"No apology is necessary. I understand how unrelenting he can be. He has been attempting to persuade you to join his Slug Club since he began teaching at Hogwarts. The fact that you have not responded angrily or rudely speaks well of your self-control. Professor Slughorn can be difficult." She said the word 'difficult' as another person would say 'annoying' or 'irritating' or 'insufferable'.

"Knight, H3 to F4," ordered Minerva, amusement at Rosier's statement betrayed by a twitch of her lips. "Yes, I have noticed that. He simply will not accept my refusal to join his club. Maybe he thinks he can wear me down if he asks enough times and I'll agree to get him to stop bothering me."

"You would be his crown jewel, Miss McGonagall. You have had the highest marks of any student in the school since the time you arrived here. It's almost guaranteed that you will be Head Girl next year. In addition, the other students respect you as does the staff. To Professor Slughorn, those attributes make you very valuable. But then, I believe you know that already. Bishop to E6." The game continued; each captured another pawn.

"Would you like another cup, Professor?" Minerva asked as she rose to refill her tea.

"No, thank you." When Minerva added a lump of sugar to her cup, she noticed a heavy tome beside the tray. She tilted her head to try to read the faded lettering, but was unable to make out the title.

"Professor, this book on the sideboard," she indicated it to Rosier, "what is about? I thought I recognized one of the symbols on the cover."

"It contains a history of the development of the Phoenician alphabet from which, as we have covered in class, derives Greek and Latin. It also contains information on Pro-Sinaitic and the transition from Egyptian hieroglyphs to a consonantal alphabet. I thought you might be interested," Rosier informed her.

"I would. May I?"

"You may." Opening the book, Minerva read the first few lines of the introduction. She traced a finger down the chart depicting the various letter forms for each language. The table of contents showed a chapter about the changing perception of the magic within languages as the consonant alphabets grew more common. Minerva turned to the indicated page.

"What have you found interesting, Miss McGonagall?" inquired Rosier, startling her a bit.

"Chapter eight on the use of languages in magic," she replied. "It seems to discuss whether or not languages, and by extension the individual letters, symbols, and runes, possess an inherent magic. Professor, may I borrow this book at some point?"

"Of course, Miss McGonagall, you may take it with when you leave tonight. I believe it is your move." Minerva returned to the game. Although she managed to acquire both of Rosier's castles, one bishop, one knight, and two more pawns, Minerva was eventually checkmated by Rosier's queen and remaining bishop.

"Well played," Rosier remarked. "You were able to anticipate my moves and evade several traps."

"Thank you, Professor. If you will excuse me, I have patrol tonight," said Minerva with a glance at the mantle clock.

"Goodnight, Miss McGonagall."

"Thank you for allowing me to borrow the book." Minerva stood, collected the book from the sideboard, and waited for the portrait to swing wide. As she stepped through the doorway, she looked back at Rosier. "Goodnight, Professor." The portrait eased shut behind her.

Since the torches had been extinguished, the hallway seemed particularly dark compared to the warm glow of Professor Rosier's quarters. Minerva lifted her right hand, palm up, and concentrated. Her eyes closed as she drew in a deep breath. On the exhale, she opened them to find the hallway illuminated by the globe of light cradled in her palm. It emitted no heat, only a gentle radiance. Her hand dropped to her side and Minerva started walking down the corridor. The globe floated beside her until she reached Merrythought's office. Extinguished with a thought, the light disappeared.

Minerva knocked on the door, entering when invited. A few minutes later, Fenwick arrived and the pair commenced their patrol. Their assigned route yielded nothing of interest aside from a weak attempt by Peeves to dump water on their heads. They reported back to Merrythought, said their goodnights, and departed for their dormitories.

When she climbed into the common room, Minerva espied Edward at one of the tables. His feet, deprived of their shoes, rested on the tabletop along with scattered sweet wrappers. His chair tipped back in danger of falling over.

"Minerva, I finished!" he called out. He waved the parchment roll in the air. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"More than I can possibly express, Edward." She maneuvered around a circle of fifth years lounged in front of the fire playing Exploding Snap. Tugging a chair over to the table, she held out her hand for the parchment. With a flourish, he presented it to her. Minerva read it and, commandeering his quill and ink, placed tiny dots at the questionable sentences.

"Here," she turned the parchment so he could see, "Check your spelling on these words." She pointed to them with the quill. "I would also reread your notes and verify these couple of statements and conclusions," Minerva instructed, showing him which ones were in doubt. "The rest of the essay is fine."

"Thanks, that shouldn't take too long," said Edward.

"Well, I'm going to bed," she declared. "Unlike you, I have class first period tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Night, Minerva." He began to thumb through his notes while Minerva headed for the staircase to the girls' dormitory.


	4. Chapter 4

Queen of Swords: Chapter 4

Setting: Hogwarts 1933

Author's Note: Alright, I've finally worked out a update schedule - every two weeks on Thursday night/Friday morning. I will try to maintain this schedule as much as possible. I have several chapters already written, albeit not edited, so hopefully this will be possible. However, my beta (the amazing lullabymoon) and I are starting some intense research for a later section and we may slow down a bit. Please be patient and keep this on your update list.

* * *

"We have to do something!" exclaimed Cecilia to her roommates as they readied for bed. She slumped down next to Beth Greengrass and Marian Russell on Beth's four-poster. "This is becoming ridiculous."

"Not to mention disgusting," added Lucille Abbott with a shudder. "That spider…" She flinched at the recollection. During Charms that morning, Lucille had asked to borrow a quill from John only to have it transform into a hairy tarantula after a half a sentence. She had shrieked and blasted a smoking hole in her desk attempting to kill the beast. However, the spider had evaded her fire, but was then caught and the spell reversed by Professor Tofty. "And all Basil said was 'it was meant for John and it's only a spider.' No apology whatsoever."

"Remember two days ago when Edward added salt to Walter's pumpkin juice and he spewed it out onto my robes?" Marian scrunched her face up in revulsion. She was busily braiding Beth's light brown hair into several plaits so that it would curl overnight while Beth had a ladies' magazine spread upon her lap. "I had to run to the dormitory to change before Herbology."

"They didn't mean any harm," said Beth. Her features reflected her personality, an almost fragile softness without any hard angles. Coffee colored eyes peered around at the other girls with earnestness. Marian, willowy with a dancer's grace and fashionable shoulder length hair, gently turned Beth back around to continue working on her braids.

"I guess not, Beth, but it's not fair that we suffer from their pranks," complained Lucille, standing on tiptoe to reach the top of her wardrobe. She brought down a box of Honeyduke's sweets, a birthday present from her parents, and offered everyone their choice.

"No, thank you," Minerva refused, curled on the window seat. On the opposite side of the glass, snow flurries whirled and tumbled through the night air. With a shrug, Lucille held a piece of toffee in her mouth as she replaced the box atop the wardrobe. The placement had been chosen not to prevent theft, a futile precaution if that had been the desire since Lucille was the shortest of the sixth year girls, but to prevent her from 'eating them too quickly' as she had confessed.

"I think they're carrying this whole thing a little too far," declared Cecilia.

"I agree; I mean, it was alright when they kept it in their dormitory and away from us. It was actually funny to watch them try to trick each other," Marian said. "Now, I'm afraid to be within twenty feet of any one of them."

"_That_ doesn't even work," Cecilia replied with a huff. "John and Edward cast an Itching Hex on me when I was walking to Potions yesterday afternoon. Apparently, they mistook me for Basil. And didn't Walter jinx your essay for Astronomy into gibberish this afternoon Beth?"

"Yes, and I had to turn it in. Luckily, Professor Derwent recognized the jinx and performed the counter-jinx. I'm sure Walter thought my essay was John's," avowed Beth. "He wouldn't have tried to get me in trouble. He told me later that the spell would have worn off in an hour."

"Well, I don't intend to put up with their nonsense any longer," Lucille announced, hands on her hips, pausing in her nightly ritual of yanking a brush through her unruly tresses.

"Neither do I," affirmed Cecilia.

"Nor I!" Marian cried out. "What about you, Minerva? I know you're good friends with Edward, but we girls need to stick together."

In answer, Minerva rose from her seat, paced over to her bookbag which lay on the floor against her trunk, and removed _Magical Creatures & Beasts: An Advanced Handbook._ Pasted over the entire book, garish yellow and black wasps buzzed continuously. Vivid, blindingly yellow and black scrawls proclaimed '_Wimbourne Wasps are the best!' _and '_Wasps rule!' _on the binding while the pages, when Minerva displayed them, were covered in a similar fashion with drawings of Wasp team members in every empty space. She snapped the book closed.

"Edward borrowed my book, promising to take care of it, and left it lying in the common room. As a loyal supporter of the Appleby Arrows, he hates the Wimbourne Wasps. Thus, this defacement. I'm not sure I want to bother with the amount of time necessary to clean it off. I may just have to order a new copy." Minerva stuffed the book back into her bookbag. "I had to cast a muffling charm on my bag every hour or so to silence the buzzing. The book was the last straw. I'll help however I can."

"What exactly should we do?" inquired Lucille.

"We could try asking the boys to stop." The rest of the room looked at Cecilia incredulously, prompting her to reconsider her words. "Never mind, that won't work. They're too stubborn."

"What about Dumbledore? He could speak to the boys for us and they would have to listen to him," suggested Marian.

"He would have to deduct points or give out detentions before they took him seriously. A verbal warning might cause them to be more discreet, but not cease. Besides," Minerva explained, "they would sulk and grumble about it for the rest of the term which would not be pleasant. I believe we also need to impress upon them the dangers of involving innocent victims in their little prank wars by handling this situation ourselves. Otherwise, they will simply do it again in the future, once they've stopped serving detentions."

She didn't say that Dumbledore almost certainly knew what was happening by this point. She suspected he had classified it as harmless fun and was as likely to laugh about the tricks as the boys.

"How do we go about that?" asked Cecilia.

"We fight fire with fire," she declared. Smiles broke out to show their comprehension of Minerva's plan. "We have all the advantages – surprise, dissention among the enemy, numbers, a secure base and so forth."

"You've miscounted, Minerva, it's five against five," Lucille reminded her, "Edward Potter, John Hamiltion, Walter Ashby, Basil Ehterington, and Donald Maxwell." She ticked them off on her fingers, one by one.

"Donald has refused to participate so he is safe from us," said Minerva. "In fact, we might be able to recruit him as an ally because their pranks have gone awry on him as well. That makes four against five, at worst, with four against six if Donald agrees to help."

"A spy in the enemy camp!" Cecilia rubbed her hands together in glee. "That's a wonderful idea. Could you ask him tomorrow, Marian, since you're friends?" A teasing grin accompanied this request; Marian and Donald fancied each other although neither was willing to admit to it. He always sat beside her at mealtimes and volunteered to carry her books while Marian blushed and never refused his company or help.

"I'm positive he'll say yes if Marian asks," remarked Lucille.

"I'll ask him after breakfast," Marian replied. "Now, what kind of pranks could we use?"

"They must be untraceable and accurate. We should try to make the boys believe that the pranks were set by each other, rather than by us, until we are ready to let them know the truth. I also think that we must ensure that no one else is affected by this campaign," Minerva laid down her stipulations. "Perhaps we should wait until Marian speaks to Donald as that will help determine our plans?"

"Right," said Cecilia, "We can think about it and reconvene the war council tomorrow."

"What about me?" asked Beth quietly. "I don't think…well…"

"Don't worry, Beth," Marian assured her, "You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with." Her friend nodded and Marian finished the last of her braids. "You can be our conscience to keep us from doing anything truly spiteful or mean." She hopped off Beth's bed, slipping into her own which was next to Beth's. Minerva, Cecilia, and Lucille followed suit. The girls exchanged goodnights, extinguished their lamps, and pulled the curtains closed.

* * *

Donald was downright eager to assist in their endeavors as Marian discovered the following morning. His roommates, although they made honest attempts to respect his neutrality, still managed to make his life difficult with their pranks.

"I can't even step out of bed anymore without looking both ways," he confided in them. Gathered in an empty classroom, the five young witches and Donald discussed their strategy. Wiry with polished spectacles, he stood next to Marian who was perched on a desk. "I've avoided the dormitory as much as possible for the past week."

"What started it all?"asked Lucille.

"John filled Walter's shoes with water, Walter retaliated with a Zonko's Hiccup Sweet, Edward and Basil took sides, and things continued from there," he explained. "It was amusing at first, but I'm ready for them to call a truce."

"Which they won't as they are having far too much fun," commented Minerva. "I can't tell which they enjoy more pulling the prank or being the victim of the prank."

"Exactly," Lucille sighed, dropping into the seat beside Marian.

"Well, let's put our heads together and see what kind of pranks we can come up with." Cecilia tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she arranged herself Indian style on the floor. The remaining students found seats and the plotting began.

* * *

"Good morning, Albus," the Headmaster greeted the Transfiguration professor upon his entrance into the Great Hall. Nearly all of the rest of staff were already present, Tofty and Slughorn being the only exceptions.

"Good morning," Dumbledore offered to the general company. Choosing the empty seat between Weasley and Beery, he poured himself a cup of hot chocolate. The clouded ceiling promised a cold and probably rainy Tuesday so he felt the chocolate was warranted.

"Late start, Albus?" Weasley questioned with a grin. "You're usually one of the first here."

"Series of mishaps I'm afraid, Frederick, starting with a Howler from an irate parent and ending with a lapse in memory regarding a trick stair," grumbled Dumbledore to the amusement of the other professor.

"Which parent?"

"Theodore Crabbe."

"Ah," Weasley nodded sympathetically, "what did he want this time?"

"I assigned his son a detention last Wednesday for dipping a girl's braid into his inkwell. Mr. Crabbe felt this was inappropriate punishment, especially in light of the fact that the girl was a Muggleborn although he used a less polite term to describe her."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree in this case," replied Weasley. "I've received half a dozen letters demanding that Muggle Studies be removed from the Hogwarts curriculum because it 'contaminates' the students. And his son isn't even in my class! What are you going to tell him?"

"I shall inform him that the detention stands. If you could pass the sausages…thank you." Weasley was then engaged by Professor Delwyn Derwent, leaving Dumbledore to try to start salvaging his day with sausages, toast, and raspberry jam. Two slices later, however, he found his attention drawn to the Gryffindor table, specifically to the sixth years. Something pink, a shocking pink that Dumbledore could see from the staff table, had arrived in the owl post for one of the boys.

Walter regarded the oversized envelope the school owl had dropped in front of him with all the wariness usually reserved for poisonous animals. It glittered, it sparkled, and it threatened to burn his eyes with its very vivid, very bright shade of pink. It was a heart, a heart emblazoned with _To my Walter Ashby, Gryffindor table, from his sweetie _in red cursive lettering and an impression of lipsticked lips.

"Looks like you have an admirer," sang out John, "Go on, open it."

"One of you two did this!" Walter glared at John and Edward.

"Nope, not us," claimed Edward although, from the look Walter shot him, the other boy didn't believe him. When Walter made no move to touch the thing, he snatched at it. Walter tried to stop him, but too late. "Well, it would be rude not to open it since someone went to so much trouble to make it." Spilling red and white confetti over the table, Edward extracted a sheet of paper, pink of course.

"Ahem!" The surrounding students leaned closer to listen as he read the note.

_"To my darling Walter,_

_I cannot contain my love for you any longer, my sweetheart. I decided to write you this little letter to let you know that I am always thinking of you. You occupy all of my thoughts with your wonderful smile. I think of your beautiful brown eyes in the middle of class and suddenly everything is wonderful. I know someday soon you will turn around and see me and you will know that we are meant to be together forever!_

_With lots of hugs and kisses,_

_Lucy Steele"_

Amid the snickering and chuckling, Walter snatched the missive from Edward and stuffed it, along with the envelope, into his bag. He barked out, "Oh just shut it, why don't you."

"It looks like you have a secret admirer, Walter," drawled John, "she _loves_ you."

"Hey, anyone know a Lucy Steele?" Edward shouted. Receiving negatives from those nearby, he said, "Must be in one of the other houses."

"Enough," Minerva spoke up. "It's time for class and you two," she pointed at Edward and John, "have Charms practice and an essay to finish for tomorrow." They groaned in unison.

From his viewpoint at the staff table, Dumbledore watched as the sixth years dispersed, Miss McGonagall apparently settling whatever fuss that been created by the pink item. As the Great Hall slowly emptied, students heading towards dormitories to retrieve bookbags or to classrooms, Slughorn ambled through the side door.

"Good morning," he exclaimed, moving to sit between Rosier and Kettleburn. "And how are you this morning, Artemisia, Silvanus?"

"Excuse me. I have a class." The Ancient Runes professor set aside her teacup and stood up abruptly. Without a single glance at Slughorn, she departed the table.

Slughorn stared after her, silenced for a moment, and then turned to Kettleburn, "Perhaps she merely slept poorly. I myself had a bit of a lie-in. Are there any kippers left?"

"Can it still be called a 'lie-in' when you do it almost every day?" asked Weasley under his breath.

"I think it's called something else that starts with an 'L'," commented Derwent, "It's ridiculous. I have midnight classes and manage to make it to breakfast on time. He's also tried to use that Slug club of his to avoid rounds."

"Why am I not surprised?" Weasley piled his utensils on his plate. "Have a good day, Delwyn. Good luck with Crabbe, Albus."

"Thank you, Frederick," he replied. Draining the last drops of hot chocolate, Dumbledore contemplated a second cup, decided against, and headed for his third year Hufflepuff-Gryffindor class. To his relief, the morning passed mundanely; a student transplanted his own nose with a pear, but that was routine. He exited the classroom for lunch when a squeaky shout echoed down the hallway.

"Professor!" Dumbledore glanced around for a house-elf. "Professor!" The second call brought his attention to Edward Potter. The sixth year hurried up to him, desperation written all over his face.

"Can you make it stop please?" he implored. "I've been talking like this since morning break." Dumbledore answered by casting a general counterjinx which restored Potter's voice to normal. "Thanks, Professor."

"You're welcome, Mr. Potter. How did you become thus afflicted?"

"Someone must have jinxed me in the corridor. Probably Basil or Walter," Edward replied. "It's fine, Professor, really, just a good joke." As the two started descending the staircase towards the Great Hall, he grinned.

"Mr. Potter, would this have anything to do with the other incidences over the past week or so? The letter at breakfast for example? Or Mr. Ehterington's sudden disinclination for desserts yesterday during dinner?"

"Well, Basil said all he could taste was Brussel sprouts last night. He hates Brussel sprouts," said Edward.

"I see."

"It's nothing, Professor. Merely some fun between friends."

"Which is why I have not intervened, Mr. Potter. However, if it becomes disruptive or dangerous, I will be forced to interfere."

"Got it, Professor," he nodded. A group of students entered the staircase below them. "Jordan!" The Quidditch Captain paused, cocking his head up at Edward. "Wait up a second. Thanks again, Professor." He barreled down to his teammate to ask about the next practice. Smiling at his exuberance, Dumbledore followed at a more sedate pace.

* * *

On Wednesday, the girls escalated. While blowing on a window to draw stick figures, John discovered his hair to have turned lilac and periwinkle blue. In addition, he emanated the distinct aroma of roses for the rest of the day. Walter spoke in rhymes. Basil's clothing shrank by one size and refused to be readjusted back to the proper measurements. Edward received a love note from a Miss Lydia Bennet, declaring her deep affection for him:

_"My dearest, sweetest Edward,_

_I know that you are my one true love. I think of you always. I dream of being your wife every night. Before I go to sleep, I kiss a picture of you that is beside my bed. I love everything about you. You are the perfect man for me. We will be married in summer, on your birthday so that every time you turn a year older you will be reminded of how much I love you. I cannot wait to begin our life together._

_Your one true love,_

_Lydia Bennet (soon to be Lydia Potter)_

During Care of Magical Creatures, Edward gained another admirer, albeit not of the human variety.

"As you can see by the chestnut coloring, this foal is clearly Aethonan. She's less than nine months old, but has been weaned from her mother. Now, who can tell me when these wings will be fully developed?" asked Professor Kettleburn. He opened the paddock gate, ushering the class inside. "Yes, Miss Fleming?"

"I think it's about a year, Professor," Charlotte answered.

"Correct, five points for Hufflepuff. What about when she'll be ready for long distance flying? Meaning that she will be flying for more than an hour at a stretch? Miss Baker?"

"Eighteen months."

"Good, five points to Ravenclaw. If you remember from your readings, the Aethonan breed is prized for its…" While Kettleburn lectured, the foal wandered closer and closer to Edward. She nudged him, whickering softly. He patted her head and returned his attention to Kettleburn. Another nudge and whinny caused him to step sideways. The foal followed. Edward retreated behind Minerva, the filly was undeterred.

"Shoo!" he whispered, flapping his hand at the foal. By this time, most of the class had realized what was happening. Edward moved away several more steps, foal in pursuit. Forced against the corner rails, he stood still as the horse began to lick his robes.

"Maybe it's Lydia," suggested Basil with a snicker.

"Oh be quiet," retorted Edward. The filly shook her mane, neighing and nudging him. "What do you want?"

"Check your pockets, Mr. Potter. Aethonan's have an excellent sense of smell," Professor Kettleburn instructed as he approached. "She might have smelt a treat in your robes."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Edward protested, "I don't have any – " He pulled out an apple from the inside pocket of his cloak. The filly whickered happily. Confused, he offered it to the horse who plucked it from his hand. "But, I didn't _put_ an apple in my pocket, Professor. I don't know where it came from."

"Maybe you simply forgot you had it, Mr. Potter. As I was saying, Aethonans are valued for their loyalty. Wizards as far back as Arthurian times preferred this breed for that reason and because…" Kettleburn resumed his lecture. Chomping on the apple, the filly pranced away to enjoy her treat.

"I didn't forget, I know I didn't have an apple in my pocket," Edward muttered, rechecking his pockets.

"You were probably just overwhelmed by Lydia's beauty," teased Marian. The class refused to let him forget the incidence for the remainder of the period. When the bell rang, Edward shot off towards the castle.

"How did you do it?" Marian asked Minerva once he was safely out of earshot.

"I shrank the apple at lunch so he wouldn't feel it in his pocket, hid it in his cloak, amplified the scent a bit to attract the filly in class, and then reversed the shrinking spell."

"Nice job."

"Thank you."

* * *

To the increasing distress of the Gryffindor sixth year boys, Thursday and Friday proved to be no less eventful. Love letters, this time including serenades and kisses, arrived for all four boys. Upon receipt of his, John's cheek suddenly sprouted a smeared kiss which could not be removed despite vigorous application of soap and water. It lingered there for a solid twenty-four hours before disappearing. According to the letter, it was to ensure that all the other girls knew that he belonged to one Marianne Dashwood.

In his turn, a Julia Betram sang her everlasting love for Basil in "I Wanna be Loved by You". Edward and Walter both received more notes from their secret admirers as well. To their considerable bewilderment, mortification, and perturbation, scribbles of _Mrs. Lucy Ashby, Mrs. Lydia Edward, Mrs. Marianne Hamilton, _or _Mrs. Julia Ehterington,_ and various permutations of these names, materialized on the appropriate boy's textbooks and parchments.

Moreover, none of these girls seemed to actually attend Hogwarts yet they knew details about each boy – John's favorite food was treacle tart, Basil lived in Norfolk with two sisters, Walter liked mystery novels, and Edward had a pet Crup named Uric. It rather unnerved them.

The four also found themselves skipping, giggling, tap dancing, mute, squawking, itching, sneezing, hiccupping, changing color, and in general suffering from all kinds of minor jinxes and hexes. They developed an alarming habit of misplacing an item; it would vanish for a few minutes, just long enough to send them into a frenzied search, then reappear exactly where it had been or placed somewhere obvious. As a result, the boys ceased playing pranks on each other and instead tried to figure out who was responsible. However, none of these pranks could be traced to a specific culprit.

In the predawn hours of Saturday morning, Donald crept down the boys' staircase to meet the girls.

"Do you have it?" he asked. Lucille showed him the atomizer which was filled with a dark green liquid.

"Befuddlement Draught," Minerva informed him, "It should last a couple of hours. It will ensure that they will be easily hoodwinked. Lucille will spray it while you and I change the alarms and cast an illusion on the windows."

"Remember you will have to play along for this to work," Cecilia reminded Donald.

"Don't worry about that. Come on," he replied. Minerva and Lucille followed him up to the sixth years' dormitory while the other three girls waited in the common room. Outside the door, Minerva halted them to mutter a charm to muffle any noise they might make. Slipping inside, the trio set to their assigned tasks. Lucille spritzed a few puffs of the potion over each boy's head. Donald reset every clock and watch two hours forward including his own. Methodically circling the room, Minerva enspelled the windows to emit bright sunlight. It would only work for a brief period, but that should be sufficient for their plan. She placed the spell on a thirty minute delay.

"Done?" queried Lucille softly.

"Done," Minerva confirmed. She and Lucille left, Donald sliding back underneath the covers.

With a groan, Edward buried his head into his pillow. Through the cracks in the bed curtains, piercing rays disturbed his rest. He reached out blindly to yank the curtains shut only to find them whisked from his grasp.

"Whaat?" he moaned at Donald whose wide eyes and tousled hair showed he had just woken as well.

"You have to get up, we're late for class, get up," Donald said in a rush, tugging at Edward's shoulder until he stood. Moving to Basil, Donald repeated his rude awakening while Edward blinked uncomprehendingly.

"What – it can't be – what time is it?" He fumbled for his watch on the bedside table. "7:55! Why didn't the alarm go off?" The watch banged against wood as Edward began scrambling for his clothes.

"Just get dressed! Professor Merrythought will give us all detentions." shouted Donald, mouth full of foaming toothpaste. The other boys obeyed in a panic.

"Ow!" yelped John, stubbing his toe. He hopped on one foot while jerking on his robes, nearly falling.

"Where's my shoe!"

"Has anyone seen my badge?"

"Wand, wand…where is it?... WAND!" Bumping into one another, forgetting bookbags, shoving feet into the wrong shoe or without socks, the boys tumbled out of the dormitory, pelting down the staircase at top speed. They dashed across the common room, the clanging bell driving them onwards – leapt out the portrait hole, thundered along the corridors, took the staircases steps two at a time, and skidded to a halt in front of the closed door to the Defense classroom. The hallway was completely empty.

"Where is everybody?" panted Basil.

"Check the door," John suggested. When Edward tried the handle, it was locked. Knocking had no effect either. They stared at each other, still gasping for breath.

"Wait a minute, what's going on?" asked Walter, his face crinkled in confusion. "I don't have Defense anymore, do I?"

"No…no, you don't," said Edward slowly. "And Defense is second period, right?"

"Right, you're right," nodded John. He straightened and squinted at the window at the end of the hall. "Shouldn't it be brighter? It looks like it's still dark outside." Donald kept silent with his hands on his knees, half bent over to conceal his face.

"Yeah," Basil checked his watch, "but this says it's 8:09. The sun should be coming up."

"Mine says that too," Edward declared, "they can't both be wrong."

"What day is it?" blurted Walter.

"It's Saturday," managed Donald before surrendering to laughter. As his roommates gaped at him, a tapestry was pushed aside and the five girls emerged from their hiding place. Giggles incapacitated Cecilia and Marian while Beth, Minerva, and Lucille wore broad grins, chuckles escaping them sporadically.

"Saturday?" repeated Basil.

"Saturday," Minerva verified as she was the calmest. "About six o'clock, Saturday morning, if you're interested." A victorious smile touched her lips.

"Six o'clock," cried the boys, moaning and banging their heads against the wall.

"You should see your expressions," Cecilia chortled.

"You were all in on it?" asked Edward.

"All of us," said Marian.

"But why?"

"Because we wanted to teach you a lesson," explained Lucille. "Your little prank war started to spill over onto us. Remember the spider? Or Beth's essay? Or Minerva's textbook?" When the boys looked guiltily away, she continued, "So we decided to give you a taste of your own medicine. We set your clocks ahead by two hours and turned off the alarms."

"And I woke everyone and convinced you that we were all late," admitted Donald.

"But I heard the bell," protested Basil.

"Prerecorded and replayed by Minerva while you were dashing across the common room. You didn't even notice us," declared Marian.

"What about the rest of the pranks? The letters? The hexes? Our things vanishing?" demanded Edward.

"That was us," Cecilia proclaimed proudly.

"Next time," Minerva fixed her glare on each of the four in turn, "I would be more careful about your pranks unless you want a repetition of this past week." After obtaining promises from the boys, the entire group returned to the dormitory.

"Minerva," called out Edward, one foot on the bottom step of the boys' staircase.

"Yes, Edward?"

"The girls in the letters, who are they?"

"They're fictional characters, Edward, from novels written by a Muggle authoress named Jane Austen."

"Right, I should have guessed," he yawned. "I'll see you in a couple of hours." He trudged upstairs, collapsing into the bed without bothering to change and promptly fell asleep. Aware that dozing now would leave her sluggish for the rest of the day, Minerva retrieved a book from her room, settled herself near the fire, and read until she could descend to the Great Hall for breakfast.

* * *

Comments? Questions? Concerns? Let me know by reviewing.


	5. Chapter 5

Queen of Swords: Chapter 5

Author's Note: Thanks to all my reviewers. You make my day whenever I receive a review notification. Also thanks as ever to lullabymoon, my beta.

Historical Note: As well as I am able, I try to research the period and use the correct details, up to and including the color of the train or the china service. I invite corrections because, obviously, I am not a historian to any degree. The newspaper articles and the crossword are courtesy of _The Times_ online archive.

Christmas 1933

* * *

Billowing white clouds, the Hogwarts Express decelerated alongside the platform. Compartment doors slid open, bags slung over shoulders, and the narrow corridor jammed with students. Shouts of 'Happy Christmas' to friends joined the parents' exclamations at their children's arrival. As prefects, Minerva and Edward remained on the train until the rest of the students left. They then swept the compartments, catching one or two stragglers, before jumping down to the platform themselves.

"Edward, Minerva," Mrs. Potter waved and moved towards them. She hugged her son first, then Minerva.

"Hello, Mum."

"Hello, Mrs. Potter."

"Did you have a nice trip?" she asked as they walked in direction of the barrier. "They were predicting snow along your route. Here, wait a moment." She cast a charm on herself and Edward to prevent the Muggles from noticing their robes, partially concealed underneath their cloaks. Minerva, on the other hand, had changed from robes and cloak into a long coat of forest green over her sweater and skirt. A hat, soft leather gloves, and royal blue scarf completed her Muggle attire. Finished, Mrs. Potter declared, "There, that should be good enough for the time it takes us to apparate out of here."

"The flurries only lasted about an hour, not even enough for a snowball," replied Edward. Passing through the gateway, they emerged into the Muggle world.

Catching Minerva glancing around, Mrs. Potter asked, "Who is picking you up?"

"Hughes should be here. My parents are hosting a dinner party tonight and couldn't come," Minerva explained. Edward and his mother exchanged a displeased look.

"Well, we can certainly wait with you until he arrives," Mrs. Potter said in a tone that brooked no argument. "How are you returning home?"

"There's an overnight train to Aberdeen which leaves in about an hour. We'll drive to Huntly from there in the morning."

"And to return to Hogwarts?"

"Most likely the same route in reverse, an overnight train to London to meet the Hogwarts Express."

"That sounds exhausting," commented Mrs. Potter. "Why don't you come a day or two before and stay with us? It would give you a chance to visit Diagon Alley as well."

"I'd like that, provided my parents agree," Minerva replied.

"I expect they will. Send us an owl and we can arrange the details."

"I will, thank you." Behind Mrs. Potter, Minerva spotted a man in a crisp black coat, who looked about forty with neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. He caught sight of her and approached, carrying a small suitcase.

"Good afternoon, Hughes. I believe you have met Mrs. Potter and her son Edward, one of my friends at Hogwarts," said Minerva.

"Good afternoon, miss. It's a pleasure to see you again Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter."

"The same to you, Mr. Hughes. How are you?" asked Mrs. Potter.

"Very well, ma'am, thank you."

"I guess we'll see you in a couple of weeks," said Edward.

"I hope so," replied Minerva. "I'll send Circe to you with my parents' answer. Happy Christmas, Mrs. Potter, Edward."

"Happy Christmas dear," Mrs. Potter hugged her again.

"Happy Christmas, Minerva," responded Edward. As they were walking away, he turned around, treading backwards, and called, "By the way, where's my present? You did get me one? I put yours in your satchel when you went to change."

"I had it delivered to your house. Otherwise you would have already opened it. You have no patience," she declared. Edward shrugged helplessly, waved, and faced the right direction barely in time to avoid running into a pillar.

"May I take your valise, miss?" inquired Hughes.

"No, thank you, I can manage. What time is our train and what platform?"

"Seven thirty at platform seven. I have the tickets already, miss, so perhaps we might go ahead and board?"

"Of course." The pair threaded their way through the station, more crowded than normal due to the season. Minerva paused to purchase a copy of _The Times_ from a newsstand before continuing to the platform. Passing the apple green locomotive and two other cars, they stopped at the first class sleeping carriage.

"Tickets, please," requested the conductor. Hughes retrieved them from an inside pocket of his coat and handed them to him. Gesturing to the steps by which he was standing, he said, "Cabin four, miss." A whistle summoned a young porter and he directed, "Show the lady to her cabin, cabin four. You'll be in 8B, sir."

"Your bag, miss?" The porter held out his hand expectantly. Resigned, Minerva allowed him to take it. "Right this way." They followed him onto the train and down the corridor until he halted at a compartment to open the door and place her valise inside. "Here you are, miss. I'll come back in moment to take your reservation for dinner."

While he showed Hughes to his compartment, Minerva unpinned her hat and removed her gloves and scarf. Warmed by the steam heating system of the train, she hung her coat on a hook with her gloves tucked into a pocket. A knock on the door announced the return of the porter.

"Yes?" she replied, opening the door.

"Would you like to reserve a time for dinner, miss? You have first pick as you're one of the first onboard," he said with a smile and a polite tug on his cap. "You have the choice of eight, eight thirty, or nine."

"Eight would be fine, thank you," she pressed a tip into his hand.

"If there is anything else you require, miss, just ask." The conductor's whistle sounded; he gave his cap another tug and hastened off to attend incoming passengers. Settling on the padded seat, which would be converted into a bed for later, Minerva folded her newspaper to the crossword. She uncovered the window and divided the time while the train loaded between watching the passersby, the crossword, and various articles.

"All aboard!" called the conductor as he shut the doors. Clouds of steam rose from the locomotive, drifting over the train. Minerva could hear the whine and gush of the engines as they prepared to leave the station. With the bell swinging to proclaim the departure, the pistons engaged, thrusting the rods back and forth to overcome friction and send the train on its way. The train swept through London proper and into the countryside. The view out the window left the brick, concrete, and electric lights behind, leaving only the sight of the countryside and horizon as the evening deepened. A couple of minutes before eight, Minerva recorded 'ovid' for the clue 'nothing beyond sixpence," set paper aside on the shelf, and exited the cabin for the dining car.

Located behind the first class carriage, the dining car glowed, the gas lamplight reflecting off crystal goblets and snowy white tablecloths. The steward guided her to a table laid with china bearing the double lion crest of the London and North Eastern Railway. As was customary, he soon seated three other passengers to complete her table. The elderly, but distinguished couple introduced themselves as Darren and Irene Spence. The fourth companion, Mrs. Winfred Bates, entered last, almost missing her reservation, and babbled her apologies to the steward as he placed her beside Minerva. Once names had been exchanged, the Spences and Minerva attempted to read the menu cards.

"Well, well, my dear, whatever are you doing traveling by yourself? I would be absolutely terrified if I had to travel alone, especially at your age, absolutely terrified," Mrs. Bates gushed, lace frills fluttering as she waved her hands in apparent distress at the very thought. "My maid travels with me, of course, I can't imagine what I would do without her on these trips."

When she paused for breath, Minerva answered her question, "I have an escort, Mrs. Bates."

"Do you? I'm so glad, a young woman should never travel unattended, you know, all sorts of terrible things could happen. The things you read about in the papers these days –" she shuddered dramatically "— are just awful. I remember this story from last week about a woman who – but I don't want to frighten you. Heading home for the Christmas holidays?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to spend Christmas with my daughter and son. Normally, I don't like traveling, but they pleaded for me to come so here I am. My husband, to my distress, had to remain in London because of some pressing business."

"Ladies, gentleman, may I take your orders?" solicited a waiter, pad and pencil poised in the air. The four ordered, Mrs. Bates dithering for a couple of minutes before finally deciding. While their food was prepared, Mrs. Bates continued to chatter. The other three occupants of the table made the minimal response possible when questioned. Mrs. Bates didn't even notice their lack of participation. However, at the arrival of the food, she attended closely to her meal which allowed actual conversation to occur. The Spences proved to be theatre and literature devotees and Minerva enjoyed comparing favorite novels, plays, and authors.

"If you have the chance, _Ball at the Savoy_ is worth seeing at Drury Lane. I particularly liked the character of Madeleine," said Mrs. Spence as their desserts and coffee were delivered. "Thank you, young man. The plot revolves around her revenge for her husband's indiscretions, a man who did not appreciate the woman he married."

"A mistake that I hope I never have or will make," avowed Mr. Spence with a fond smile which his wife reciprocated. Their hands intertwined on the tabletop and Minerva took a bit of cheesecake to allow them the moment. Unfortunately, Mrs. Bates showed no such courtesy, having finished her triple chocolate cake that she had asked to be brought with her entrée.

"Oh, that is so wonderful," she sighed, "to be so much in love after all those years together. I'm sure my husband and I will be just like that. I remember when he used to say that I was the prettiest girl in the entire town and would buy me flowers and sweets every day. He could have married any girl in town, but he said he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with anyone other than me. Our wedding day was perfect, everybody declared my dress to be the finest they had ever seen, and then along came Richard, and Caroline, and little Mary, my darling girl who I am going to visit. She has the most darling children who… " As she persisted in her prattling, Minerva quit listening, her mind concentrating instead on a mental replay of the recent Ravenclaw-Slytherin match.

"Pardon the interruption, madams, mademoiselle, sir," the steward disrupted Mrs. Bates' narrative of Mary's courtship and wedding, events in which she had apparently played a crucial role. "However, we need to prepare for the next dining set, if you please?"

"Certainly, my good man," answered Mr. Spence, standing, "and please present my compliments to the chef. The trout was excellent." Following his lead, the rest of the table rose.

"Thank you, sir. I will mention it to him," replied the steward as they filed past him. After biding goodnight to Mrs. Bates and the Spences at their cabins, Minerva continued forward until she reached number four. Once inside, she found her seat already transformed into a bed, the covers turned down. Latching the door, Minerva changed into pajamas and chose a book,_ The Memories of Sherlock Holmes_, from her valise. At ten thirty, she marked her place, returned the book to the satchel, and extinguished the lamp.

While she slept, the train wound north, snaking along the east coast of England before it passed into Scotland. Minerva awoke to the farmlands and hills of her home county. After dressing, she learned they were an hour outside of Aberdeen. She requested a breakfast of toast, porridge, and tea in her cabin. As she ate, she perused the remainder of yesterday's _Times_, discovering two pieces of interest regarding Germany. "German Church Policies" detailed the absorption of the Evangelical Youth, a membership of seven hundred thousand boys, into the Hitler Youth. According to the article, any boy who refused would be expelled from the Evangelical Youth and the boys who remained would spend four days a week in Hitler Youth activities such as field sports and exercises. Another article mentioned Germany's desire to increase their military by three hundred thousands, supposedly a short-term defensive army, as well as the wish to peaceably reclaim the Saar from France. Minerva wondered how sincere the Germans were about peace in light of these new demands.

With a rap, Hughes called through the door, "Miss McGonagall?" She stood and opened the door to find her escort waiting with his suitcase in hand.

"Good morning, Hughes. "

"Good morning, miss. Did you sleep well?"

"I did. Have you had a chance for breakfast? Although I had a nice bowl of porridge, if you haven't, we could stop for breakfast before we leave Aberdeen," she suggested.

" I've already eaten, miss, but thank you. The conductor informed me that we are a few minutes from the station."

"I'll gather my things, thank you." She accomplished this quickly, scanned the compartment once to assure herself that she had everything, and utilized the mirror to position her hat. Her coat and gloves donned, a tip left on the table, she went out into the corridor with her valise. The train clattered across the River Dee, nearing the Aberdeen Railway Station. Within a minute or two, it slowed to a halt beneath the glass and steel latticework ceiling. Disembarking, Hughes guided her to a bench near the entrance.

"I'll bring round the car, miss, if you could wait here," he said. With her agreement, he left her and Minerva used the opportunity to purchase the Saturday edition of _The Times_ to check her crossword. It matched the answer key given. When she saw Hughes returning, she met him halfway and they exited the station. Hughes had parked the car right outside the entrance; Minerva slid into the backseat while he held the door, placing her valise at her feet. Once behind the wheel, Hughes started the drive to Huntly.

An hour and a half later, Minerva inserted her bookmark into _The Lost World_ as the sedan halted at the flight of steps leading up to the arched entryway of her family home. Heavy mahogany doors swung outwards, revealing Mrs. Weaver, the housekeeper, in her simple black dress. With a murmured thanks to Hughes, she mounted the steps. Behind her, she heard the car restart and head towards the garage.

"Welcome home, miss. Did you have a pleasant journey?" inquired Mrs. Weaver, walking alongside her into the vestibule. A maid came to take Minerva's coat, gloves, hat, and valise.

"Thank you, Rose, and just set the valise on my bed. I will unpack it," Minerva directed before replying to Mrs. Weaver. "It was a smooth trip. How have you been since I left? I heard that Gavin is to be married in the spring?"

"Yes, to Jane Robb, a lovely and goodhearted girl if I do say so myself," Mrs. Weaver spoke with a smile of her middle son's choice of bride.

"I'm sure that if you say it, it must be true," declared Minerva. "Would you give him my congratulations please?"

"Of course, miss. I still remember how you used to toddle after him, playing hide and seek in the gardens," she said. "Sometimes, I can't quite believe how grown up you children are now. Time goes so fast. It seems only a minute ago that you were this high," she held a hand at her hip, "and suddenly you're a head taller than me." She shook her head, "Enough of that in any case, your mother is in the conservatory and your father wanted me to remind you that lunch will be served promptly at noon. He's on the phone with London in the study, not to be disturbed."

"Thank you, I won't bother him then. Are my brothers here?" Minerva's voice didn't alter, but the housekeeper saw her eyes flit away and her jaw tighten as she swallowed.

"Yes," Weaver replied in a gentle tone, "they arrived Thursday. Cook's making an apple tart, one of your favorites, for lunch." Minerva nodded before straightening her shoulders and striding towards the conservatory. Mrs. Weaver watched her go with sympathy.

"It's not right," Rose's pronouncement startled her. She carried the valise, hat, and gloves, having hung up the coat and lingered. "They don't even take the trouble to come say hello. When I go home, my mother greets me at the door while my brothers and sisters climb all over me like I'm a hobbyhorse."

"Hush, it's not your place to judge." However, her chide lacked any force and, as Rose climbed the stairs with Minerva's things, she muttered, "Though I can't say I disagree." With a critical click of her tongue, she bustled off to oversee the lunch preparations.

"Good morning, Mother." Mrs. McGonagall twitched, spilling a little from the watering can she held.

"Hello, Minerva," she exclaimed as she set the can on the table. Outfitted in a day dress of pale green with a broad white collar, she dabbed at the wet spots on her oversized cuffs with a handkerchief. "Welcome home. How was your trip?"

"It was fine."

"Good. I'm sorry we couldn't meet you at King's Cross, but I had already agreed to host the dinner party when I learned that you would be returning on the same day."

"It's alright, I understood," Minerva insisted. She failed to mention that the information had been included in her Hogwarts' letter which had been given to her mother to read and keep. She suspected the letter had been buried and forgotten in her mother's desk. Instead of remembering and checking the letter, her mother had sent Minerva a note requesting the date of her return two weeks ago. Doubtless, the plans for the dinner party had been formed first and Mrs. McGonagall had realized afterwards that it might conflict with the school calendar. "Did it go well?"

"Yes, it was a complete success. I received several compliments on the meal and on my talent for bringing together the perfect company," she said with a self-satisfied and proud smile. "Mrs. Gordon requested my help to choose the guest list for her holiday tea in a few days."

"How nice," Minerva commented, which seemed to be all the response her mother required to launch into the latest gossip. While she chattered, Minerva picked up the watering can and finished the job her mother had started.

"Mother," she gently interrupted her, "I should change before lunch."

"Oh, yes. Welcome home, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Mother." Leaving her mother to her flowers, Minerva climbed the staircase to the first floor. As the eldest daughter, she had merited and occupied the southeastern corner bedroom since she had been removed from the nursery. Minerva entered the room to find it illuminated by the winter morning sun shining through the gauzy white curtains; Rose had apparently tied back the heavier set on the two windows. Her valise rested on the tartan coverlet of her bed. The dark blues and greens of her family colors were reflected in the fleur-de-lis of the cream wallpaper and in the bed curtains. A broad oak desk with matching chair sat beneath the smaller southern window while a bureau and wardrobe stood against the wall which contained the door. Despite her mother's best attempts to add flowers, lace, and pastel colors to the room, Minerva had persevered and maintained the simplicity she preferred.

A squeak of hinges announced her sister as a brunette head stuck out around the door connecting Minerva's room to their shared bathroom. Originally, the two rooms had been completely separate, but her father had changed the design when he had a modern plumbing system installed.

"Minerva!" Dashing across the room, Fiona McGonagall flung her arms around her older sister. After regaining her balance, Minerva returned the embrace. Her arms settled around Fiona's shoulders, the younger sibling being significantly shorter. Her words muffled, Fiona said, "I thought I heard you. When did you get home? I didn't hear the car."

"A few minutes ago," Minerva replied as they separated. While she began to unpack her valise, Fiona plunked down next to it on the bed. Fiona leaned backwards, propping herself up on her elbows. "Long enough to be reminded that lunch is served at noon, as if I haven't lived in this house for years, and for Mother to inform me about the latest scandal involving Mrs. Crawford."

"Yes, Emma says Mr. Crawford may even ask for a _divorce_," Fiona related. Emma, being the daughter of the town's dressmaker, gathered and repeated rumors faster than her mother could stitch a hemline. Fiona was an ardent follower of Emma's. "She said that Mrs. Crawford was seen leaving a party with mysterious man when Mrs. Crawford was visiting her aunt in Edinburgh last month. It couldn't have been Mr. Crawford as he was in London at the time."

"Fiona, you shouldn't listen to gossip nor should you retell it."

"That's what my tutors say, but Mum does it," she protested. Watching Minerva remove a set of clothing, three books, and a varnished wooden case from the satchel, she peeped into it and asked, "How can it fit all of this stuff inside? And I thought you weren't supposed to use magic at home? And what's in the box?"

"I enchanted it at Hogwarts. Since I'm not actively casting a spell, merely using a passive one, the sensors don't register it," explained her sister. "The box is for my wand. I don't like leaving it at Hogwarts."

"Neat. Could you make one of those bags for me?"

"I'm afraid we're not allowed. Now, I have to change out of these traveling clothes for lunch."

"Alright, I'll leave," sighed Fiona, heaving herself off the bed and prancing back to her room. Minerva exchanged her skirt and blouse for a chemise and long-sleeved dress of grayish blue, decorated with faux pearl buttons in a line from waist to throat on the front. The skirt skimmed to mid-calf, small pleats at the hemline. Ducking into the bathroom, Minerva yanked out the hairpins, brushed her hair free of tangles, and reworked it into a more relaxed knot. She then knocked on the door to her sister's chamber.

"Fiona?"

"Come in." Minerva opened the door to find Fiona brandishing a magazine. Showing it to Minerva, she demanded, "What do you think of this pattern? I like the puffed sleeves, but I think I would have them shortened and the dress done in lilac instead of yellow."

Minerva glanced at the picture, "I'm sure it would look pretty on you. Let's go downstairs – Father doesn't tolerate lateness."

"I know, I know. 'Punctuality is one of the cardinal virtues,'" Fiona attempted to mimic their father's gruff voice. She rolled her eyes extravagantly. Side by side, the sisters preceded downstairs to the dining room where their mother already waited at one end of the table. Minerva and Fiona took their accustomed seats on opposite sides of the table.

When the clock struck twelve, their father and brothers appeared. The brothers sat while their father remained standing behind his chair for a moment. An austere man in his fifties, liberal streaks of gray in his hair, Reginald McGonagall surveyed his family with a critical eye. Seated to his left, his older son, Kenan, and daughter resembled him – dark hair, tall, strongly defined features – while the younger children, Nathaniel and Fiona, favored their mother in lighter coloring, shorter height, and overall gentler appearances. Both Kenan and Nathaniel displayed athletic builds, participating in sports to develop their character and strength. At thirteen, Fiona showed signs of maturing into proper lady who would make a good wife and mother. Kenan and Fiona shared their mother's brown eyes, Nathaniel had his black irises, and Minerva…

As always, he paused to consider his eldest daughter. Keen gray eyes returned his scrutiny evenly, intense and forthright. While his features lent his son distinction and authority, on Minerva they seemed too severe for feminine beauty. In its place, her face revealed a certain stubbornness, a determined willfulness to decide her own future rather than be guided by his wisdom and greater understanding. From her earliest years, she preferred her books to dolls, mathematics to needlework or cooking, and sports to dancing. Although her mother had tried to interest her in clothes or in the running of a household or in society, she had never succeeded. The tutors had been delighted to have such a studious, if quiet and serious, pupil which had led them to broaden and advance her education farther than warranted for a girl. At the time, he had seen no harm in it, yet upon reflection, he should have kept a more careful check on her schooling.

And then the letter had arrived. Odd occurrences had been reported to him over the years, but he had dismissed them as fanciful imaginings of his servants, wife, and children. He was a modern man – there was no room for superstitious nonsense in his house. The letter, subsequently followed by a visit from a professor of this Hogwarts, forced him to completely alter his beliefs. His daughter was a witch. She possessed magical powers – incredibly, an entire society existed based upon magic. Shortly thereafter, Minerva was whisked away to this school to learn how to use her powers. Since that time, she had grown even more strong-willed and independent, no doubt due to the lack of parental authority and supervision. Had she remained at home, he could have curbed her unacceptable behaviors and reinforced the proper values and decorum for a young woman in her position.

"Welcome home, Minerva," he intoned, seating himself at the head of the table. On cue, the servants started bringing in dishes. Lunch progressed with little more than the scrape and clink of china and silverware until the apple tart had been consumed and everyone had only a cup of tea, coffee for Mr. McGonagall, in front of them.

"Kenan, why don't you tell your mother and sisters about your studies?" he invited the elder son.

"Yes, Father. In literature, we finished Hamlet; Newtonian physics have been introduced in my physical sciences course. We're currently studying the Machiavelli in my philosophy class, debating whether his assertion that one should choose to be feared rather than loved is valid," Kenan informed them.

"Do you believe his claim?" questioned Minerva. "Machiavelli's argument is based upon the premise that men are naturally inclined to act out of self-interest without regard for the chains of obligation as he calls the ties of friendship and love."

"I do, for the most part."

"You have a very harsh view of –"

"That's enough, Minerva," her father interrupted, then turned to his son. "Please continue. What is your business class focusing on at the moment?" Minerva clenched her jaw shut.

"John Stuart Mill's value theory, Father. I presented a paper on the subject last week and received top marks."

"Good, I trust you will continue to apply yourself. Nathaniel, your dean informs me that you have been nominated for academic recognition in history."

"Yes, Father."

"Well done," he said, bestowing a nod of approval on Nathaniel who smiled at the praise. "However, I noticed your mathematics marks are noticeably lower. You must work to bring those up when you return."

"Yes, Father," he replied, his gaze falling to his lap, the grin disappearing.

"I will be in my study for the afternoon and do not wish to be disturbed. Kenan, I think it's time you began putting your education to use by reviewing the accounts with me," announced Mr. McGonagall as he stood, exiting the room directly. Kenan drained the last drops of tea from his cup, murmured a 'welcome home' to Minerva, kissed his mother on the cheek, and followed his father.

"Fiona, would you help me wrap the presents for the servants this afternoon?" asked Mrs. McGonagall.

"Of course, Mother."

Once they had left, Nathaniel stated, "I hate mathematics. I'd rather study dead people and wars than numbers. "

"I know," replied Minerva.

"Kenan hates it too. He just pretends otherwise for Father." He snorted, "You were always better at mathematics than both of us. Didn't you say that you were taking something like mathematics at Hogwarts?"

"It's called Arithmancy, and yes, it involves numbers. I quite enjoy it."

Shaking his head, Nathaniel said, "You're strange, Minerva."

"Thank you," she responded, plainly sarcastic.

"You're welcome. What are you doing for the rest of the day?"

"I thought I would read or practice for a couple of hours. What about you?"

"No idea…perhaps I'll take Kerr out for a walk," he said as they departed the dining room.

"Just stay in sight of the house, come back before it starts getting dark," Minerva reminded him, "and tell someone which direction you are going."

"I will, and you're worse than Mother, Minerva." He started in direction of the back stairs, "Besides, I'll have Kerr with me." His sister returned to her room, settling down with _Dark Magic: A Compendium of Essays on its Nature, Definition, Application, and Defense Against_. Two essays later, she decided a change of activity was required.

A furry head brushed against her leg as she reached for a D flat. Pausing, Minerva looked to find a pair of begging brown eyes, which belonged to Kerr, the family's rough-haired collie. She combed her fingers through the tousled mess on his head and he woofed appreciatively.

"Have a good walk?" she asked Nathaniel who was as disheveled as Kerr.

He nodded, "Circled the house a few times. Would you mind taking care of Kerr? I don't want Father to catch me like this." He gestured at his apparel and hair.

"Go on, Kerr can stay with me. I'll take him downstairs."

"Thanks," he replied and disappeared. After being petted for a few minutes, Kerr flopped at her feet while Minerva reshuffled her music. The strings vibrated at her touch. Losing herself in the melody, she failed to notice her mother's entrance. The sound of clapping when she finished the piece alerted her to Mrs. McGonagall's presence.

"That was wonderful, Minerva. What piece were you playing?"

"An arrangement of Chopin's 'Raindrop Prelude,'" she answered.

"Simply lovely, sweetheart," her mother gushed. "I'm so glad you're continuing to practice. Music is an important part of a young woman's education. Perhaps you and Fiona could play a piece or two together at our next dinner party?"

"I'd rather not, mother."

"Oh…well, speaking of parties, we have been invited to Lord Forbe's ball for Hogmanay. I've already ordered your gown, using your old measurements, and Mrs. Grover will be here after Christmas for the fitting. Many of the finest young men in the county will be there and I want you to look your best. "

"What color is the dress?" inquired Minerva, suppressing a sigh of resignation. Asking to be excused from the ball would be futile.

"It's a surprise, darling." She caught sight of Minerva's expression, dubious and showing a distinct lack of enthusiasm at this pronouncement. "Don't worry, you will look very pretty and will have a wonderful time."

"I should practice," Minerva stated. Her mother stared at her quizzically, thrown by her disinterest in the subject of a ball and its accompanying preparations.

"Of course," said her mother after a bit, touching Minerva's shoulder. "I won't disturb you any longer." She smiled and drifted away out of the room.

Minerva waited until her mother was gone, then searched through the music lying atop the piano until she found a piece she didn't recognize. New music required her complete concentration, forcing her not to think about the upcoming ball or the feeling of trepidation that it inspired. She saw little point in allowing the event to consume more of her attention than absolutely necessary.

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

Queen of Swords: Chapter 6

Author's Note: Sorry for the lateness. I was late getting the chapter to my beta and life went a little crazy. Quote is from _The Shape of Things to Come_ by H.G. Wells.

New Year's Eve 1933, January 1934

* * *

Minerva fidgeted. The reflection revealed her mother's idea of her 'best;' a floor length gown of cerise silk, a distinctly pink shade bordering on red. The color was just dark enough to compliment, but it was still unmistakably pink. A band of lighter fabric emphasized her waist while the halter neck displayed her fair shoulders and elegant neckline – according to the seamstress and her mother at the fitting. Her mother had selected the pattern and fabric for Minerva on the premise that there would not have been sufficient time for the dress to be made had they waited for Minerva to come home for the holidays to order. Mrs. McGonagall had taken full advantage of this opportunity to garb her daughter in a more feminine color, selecting a dress cut to enhance the figure more than Minerva would have chosen.

Under her mother's direction, her hair had been curled, but Minerva had refused to wear it down. Instead, it was caught up in a complicated bundle of twists and knots, several strands escaping artfully. It hurt. The pins supporting this creation dug into her skull; her scalp ached from the tightness of the contraption.

"There, you look very nice, Minerva," her mother appeared in the mirror beside her. Dressed in powder blue, she checked her makeup and then turned around to face her younger daughter. Fiona, sitting on Minerva's bed, wore a white frock edged with wide ruffles over the shoulders and at the hemline. "You look beautiful too. You are going to break hearts in a year or two, Fiona, I'm sure of it."

"I could start breaking them now if you would let me attend the ball," Fiona suggested. "Please, Mother. I promise I'll be on my best behavior."

"You're still too young, sweetheart. Maybe next year." Mrs. McGonagall stroked Fiona's curls soothingly. "I will tell you everything afterwards and you can always watch from the top of the staircase with the other girls. Barbara and Margaret will be there, you haven't seen them in a while. You'll have a good time with them."

"I guess," Fiona sighed, leaning against her mother who hugged her.

"You'll have your chance soon, sweetheart." In response to a knock, she called out, "Yes, come in."

Rose entered with a curtsy and announced, "The master sent me to tell you that the car will leave in five minutes."

"Thank you, Rose. Please tell him that we are coming now." Rose dipped another curtsy and left. After glancing in the mirror one last time, Mrs. McGonagall led her daughter downstairs. Collecting wraps, gloves, clutches, and the men of the household, the family proceeded to the two cars waiting outside. Minerva opted to ride with her younger siblings in the second vehicle. Evening had already fully descended, deepening in the course of drive, the stars distinct and bright in the sky when they arrived at their destination. Dozens of windows spilled the light from chandeliers into the night and onto the faces of the guests as they mounted the marble steps. Once into the entryway, maids relieved them of their outerwear, impeccable in stiff aprons and black uniforms. Darting through the crowd, Barbara claimed Fiona who reluctantly followed her friend upstairs with many a backwards glance. The rest of the McGonagalls greeted their host, his lady, and their children before entering the ballroom. Spying schoolmates, Nathaniel and Kenan excused themselves. Minerva continued with her parents farther into the room, skirting the dance floor.

"McGonagall," a portly gentleman welcomed her father with a vigorous handshake.

"Clayton, it's good to see you," he responded. Gesturing, he asked, "Patricia, Minerva, this is Sir Gerald Clayton. Clayton, you remember my wife, Patricia?"

"Of course, of course, how could I forget such a beautiful creature? We meet at one of Lady's Falconer's brunches. And would this be one of your daughters?"

"My eldest, Minerva."

"Good evening," said Minerva politely, thinking that this Sir Clayton reminded her of Slughorn in his manners and dress – pompous and avaricious. She stiffened as his gaze swept her figure, lingering ever so briefly where it shouldn't.

"Good evening indeed." He raised his voice to call, "Bryce!" At normal volume, he solicited, "I don't believe you have met my son, Bryce."

"No, we have not had that pleasure," replied Mrs. McGonagall. "He is your only son, if I remember?"

"Yes, unfortunately, my other two children are girls. Ah, Bryce, come and meet Mr. McGonagall and his family." A somewhat thickset young man approached the party, swaggering with an indolent expression. Minerva noticed his bowtie was crooked and the part in his dark blond hair was untidy; she thought his checks were a bit flushed as well.

"Yes, Father?" said Bryce. To Minerva's indignation, his eyes performed the same examination of her as his father, except he didn't bother to try to conceal it. He leered openly at her.

"Bryce, I'd like you to meet Mr. Reginald McGonagall, his wife Patricia, and their daughter Minerva."

"Your father speaks well of you," Mr. McGonagall declared while he shook Bryce's hand. "He has high hopes for you."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," offered Mrs. McGonagall, extending her hand. When Bryce turned to her, Minerva neither presented her hand nor tendered anything beyond a "Good evening." Her father shot her a hard glare at this rebuff.

"How old is your daughter?" asked Clayton senior.

"Sixteen," answered Mr. McGonagall.

"How fortunate. Bryce is only three years older. Perhaps you would care to ask Miss McGonagall for a dance?" he proposed to his son. Minerva felt like scrubbing her skin with gravel to rid herself of the taint Bryce's second lewd examination deposited on her skin.

"Miss McGonagall, would you reserve a dance for me?" Bryce warped his lips into a smile. Disguising her revulsion, Minerva forced her features into a mask of cold indifference.

Preempting his daughter's refusal, Mr. McGonagall decreed, "She would be honored."

"Excuse me," Minerva retorted curtly. Before her parents could object, she slipped away from the group.

"I'm afraid my daughter has not been able to attend many balls so she may be a little uncomfortable," Mrs. McGonagall quickly leapt to explain Minerva's behavior. "Please forgive her abruptness."

"Yes, yes, I understand. It's perfectly alright," Clayton reassured her, "just a touch of nerves."

"She will be happy to dance with your son later in the evening," reasserted Mr. McGonagall.

"Good, good. On a different note, McGonagall, I would like to discuss a business proposition with you in the near future."

"Certainly." The two fathers conferred for a few minutes on the possibility of an investment in a new manufacturing company for aviation while Mrs. McGonagall paid attention to Bryce by enquiring about his schooling and hobbies. Upon parting from the Claytons, they sought their errant daughter, finding her standing near the musicians.

"Minerva," her father caught her elbow and spoke in a low harsh tone, "you will treat Bryce Clayton with every courtesy. I will not tolerate such rudeness. His father – "

"—Is one of your closest associates and is very influential, not to mention ennobled. Is that what you were going to say, Father?" snapped Minerva, eyes flashing. Taken aback by her daring, he released her arm. "I will dance with him once, provided you and Mother refrain from accepting dance partners on my behalf without my consent. Do we have an agreement? Otherwise, I _will_ refuse to accommodate Mr. Clayton."

"Very well. I expect you to fulfill your half of the bargain without complaint," he demanded. He stalked off, her mother remaining behind.

"He's from a very good family, Minerva, titled and with a large estate. You should try to be pleasant. He might surprise you."

"I doubt it."

"Well, it couldn't hurt to try," she asserted. "Maybe he will improve if you act friendlier. Ask him about polo; he told me it's his favorite sport and he plays regularly."

"And he _happens _to be the best player on his team?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"How modest of him."

"Minerva," her mother sighed, "you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Indulge him a little and you'll be surprised at the change." At that moment, an acquaintance of Mrs. McGonagall materialized and provided Minerva with an escape while her mother was distracted.

Wandering around the ballroom, Minerva heartily wished for Edward, or better, that she would blink and find herself back at Hogwarts, soaring above the Quidditch pitch or practicing nonverbal spells in Defense. 'Indulge him' kept flickering across her mind, fueling her irritation. 'Indulge him' indeed; her mother meant flirt and simper, listening to him prattle on about his accomplishments and flattering his ego. Hell would freeze over first. She grimaced – she was obligated to endure his company for one dance.

There was no point in delaying the unpleasantness. If she discharged this necessity, she would be able to spend the rest of the night in relative peace. Besides, she would not hide from the likes of Bryce Clayton. Resolute, she located him near the punch bowl and crossed over to him. The clacking of her heels announced her approach as the musicians finished the coda to the current number.

"Mr. Clayton," he wheeled to face her, the cup in hand flinging a few droplets, "we are engaged for a dance. Now would be convenient if that suits you."

"It suits me well enough I suppose," he droned. After gulping the remainder of his punch, he reached to grasp her hand. Minerva ignored this and proceeded towards the dance floor which forced him to follow. As they reached the floor, the orchestra sounded the opening notes, and Bryce gripped Minerva's right hand in a meaty paw, clutching her waist with the other. For her part, Minerva permitted only the tips of her fingers graze his tuxedo jacket and kept her arms as straight as possible to maintain the maximum space between them. Despite these efforts, Bryce continually tried to drag her nearer. He lacked any sense of rhythm, abused her toes, exhaled a foul odor, and ogled her chest. Minerva bore it, a muscle twitching in her cheek from the strain of controlling her temper. Then, the hand on her waist slid south.

A glower from her produced nothing except a sneering smile of complacency.

"Move it," she ordered.

"Move what? Aren't you enjoying our dance? My father and your father want us to be…closer," he alleged, the leer incised onto his features. Minerva yanked his hand back to the proper position. It roamed again, even lower this time.

Wrenching herself free, Minerva strode off the dance floor. She ignored the startled exclamations at her desertion of her partner, frozen in the middle of the company. Everyone in the vicinity paused to watch as she traversed the length of the ballroom and exited into the hallway. Whispers sprouted, stares refocusing on Bryce who reddened, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Library?" Minerva demanded of a footman. He pointed, and she hastened in that direction, her heart pounding in her ears, fingers shaking. With a shove, she entered the darkened room. Dim lamps illuminated the dusty rows and creased leather of the armchairs – sanctuary. Her breathing reduced to ragged gasps, she gripped the padded backing of a chair in an attempt to steady herself. Almost instantly, she abandoned this tactic to pace rapidly from wall to wall.

"First aicme of Ogham: Beith…luis…fearn…saille…nuin," Minerva muttered the names of the runes, "Second aicme: uath…duir…tinne…coil…quert." Third, fourth, fifth aicmes, the shaking diminished, breathing beginning to return to normal. Beith…duir…straif…eadad…iphin…her steps halted. When they resumed, the tempo had slowed, lost its frenzied momentum. Yet, the pacing persisted, muffled thumps on carpet to proclaim a righteous fury and utter revulsion. Five, ten, fifteen minutes elapsed without any hint of cessation.

_Thud!_ Minerva paused, spun to confront the sound which had emanated from the closed door. It swung open, the bright light outlining Bryce Clayton's stocky form. He clutched a tumbler in one hand, sloshing whisky onto the carpet.

"Get out," she commanded, hand flying to her side in search of her wand. Minerva cursed when she remember that she was currently in the Muggle world. Not noticing, Bryce took a swig from his glass.

"You left me on the dance floor," he declared. "You left me standing in the middle of the goddamned dance floor like a fool." He lurched towards her, Minerva retreated from him. "You'll pay for that."

"You couldn't keep your hands to yourself," she replied, trying to maneuver past him to the door. Moving surprisingly fast for his inebriated state, Bryce blocked her.

"Well, I had to _amuse_ myself _somehow_," he slurred the words. "_I_ didn't want to dance with _you_. I mean, who _would_? My _father_ insisted."

"I assure you, I had no desire to dance with you either," Minerva avowed. "It was a mistaken attempt to humor my parents' absurd ideas. You were not my choice of partner by any means."

"What!" He waved the glass in the air, stuck a finger to his chest. "I'm going to be Ssser Bryce Clayton. Your family was still scraping in the dirt when MY family was lord over ALL of thiss land. You're just a pack of up-up-upstart shopkeepers! You should be thankful that I would even _look _at you, let alone –"

"Well, from what I have gathered, your estate is probably almost bankrupt and your father hopes that an alliance with the McGonagalls will improve your fortunes." Confirming her shrewd guesses, his lips curled in a snarl. "We **are** noted for our business acumen, which led to our rise to the aristocracy a couple of generations ago." He spluttered. "And, if I remember my local history, the Claytons were considered mere country gentlemen until your grandfather's time, hardly worthy of recognition by anyone outside your parish." Minerva reached for the door handle behind him with her left hand.

Bryce seized her wrist. Nails dug into her skin, thick fingers compressing bone and muscle to the point of pain.

"You aren't going anywhere," he hissed into her ear. The stench of alcohol turned her stomach. When she tried to jerk her hand free, he applied more pressure. "Say you're sorry and I might let you make it up to me."

"Let go," she ordered, the words cold and precise.

Drunk and arrogant, Bryce refused, "What are you going to do if I don't? I'm bigger AND stronger than you. What, are you going to curse me or somethin'?"

With a mocking laugh, Minerva pronounced grimly, "The former sounds quite appealing. Which would you prefer – pig or cockroach?"

"What did you say?"

"Pig or cockroach?" she repeated, noting that her fingers were beginning to prickle from the restricted blood flow.

"Wha – you – you – _bitch_!"

"Smack!" Her palm slammed into his cheek – not the delicate slap of a lady who never lifted more than a handbag – but the powerful strike of a Chaser, accustomed to thwarting gravity's pull by snatching a heavy ball out of midair to then carry it length of the field and hurtle it towards a goal or teammate at high velocity. Broken veins demarcated where her hand had landed. Reeling, he stumbled and lost his hold. With cry, he lunged at her.

Minerva sidestepped and he crashed to the floor. Bryce hauled himself to his feet and charged –

_He couldn't – he couldn't move – HE COULDN'T MOVE! _Legs, arms, head, fingers, everything immobilized – only his eyes able to move, wide with fright. Minerva circled him, the hushed thumps of her heels and swish of pink fabric audible in the sudden stillness of the room. Flicking his eyes to his fingers, arms, legs, he witnessed the failure of his body to respond to his commands. Sweat dribbled down into them, stinging, and darkened his shirt. She halted in front of him.

"You were almost right, Bryce, a single letter variation on the correct term. In the future, I would advise you to respect a woman's refusal," Minerva scrutinized him, "as I expect you will be receiving a great many of them over the course of your life.

"Now, I will return to the ballroom; you should be restored to full mobility a minute or two after I leave. And, unless you wish to sound daft and pathetic, I suggest you do your best to forget this entire experience aside from that one piece of advice regarding your treatment of women." Minerva cast a final contemptuous glance at him, opened the door enough for her while preventing any passersby from catching a glimpse of him, and departed.

Midnight ushered in the New Year with the appropriate traditions of first-footing and singing fulfilled. Secluded in a corner, Minerva surveyed the room while the merrymaking continued. Bryce, who had lurched back into the ballroom white as a sheet, avoided her, staying on the opposite side of the chamber. For the remainder of the night, she occupied herself by studying the guests. Occasionally, she would be interrupted by her brothers, her mother, or small bands of acquaintances. These acquaintances would claim friendship on the basis of some childhood encounter or because they were a family friend. Most of the time, Minerva failed to recollect more than a name and a possible connection. A few of them she could not place at all. After the second inquiry about 'that little incident' on the dance floor, Minerva realized that they were gossips who sought to embellish whatever stories they had already concocted.

She thwarted their ambitions by declining to discuss it. During these interactions, she kept her left hand hidden to prevent having to explain. Becoming convinced of her unwillingness to talk, they had to relinquish their quest. As they walked away, Minerva overheard them speculate.

"She's always been a little, well, odd if you ask me. There's no telling why she did that."

"Headstrong, that's what I've been told, and bookish. Fiona, that's her younger sister, will make the better match, sweet _and_ pretty."

"I've tried to find the school Patricia says she attends. An exclusive school, you have to be _invited_…it doesn't exist. I've asked everyone and nobody knows a thing about it. Can you imagine? She just disappears every September and reappears in June from god knows where."

"Her sister is the beauty of the family; she's not unattractive, but I would never call her pretty." Minerva endeavored to ignore these comments, but withdrew as far as possible into the background. Confrontation would result in increased rumors; it would not alter their opinions of her except for the worst. Incivility, a lack of manners, vulgarity would be added to their depiction of her.

Two o'clock chimed to her relief. Meeting her family in the entryway, she collected her coat and they proceeded out to the cars. When Minerva went to slide into the backseat beside Fiona, her father stopped her.

"What happened between you and Bryce Clayton, Minerva? You gave me your word that you would dance with him and you abandoned him on the floor in front of everyone!"

"I'll tell you in the morning, Father. Right now, I just want to go home," she said softly.

Perhaps seeing the weariness on her face, he relented, "In the morning."

Minerva nodded and settled into her seat. Her father shut the car door.

"What was that about?" asked Fiona, laying her head on Minerva's shoulder and looking up at her sleepily.

"Tomorrow, Fiona, I don't feel like talking about it tonight."

"But it…it is tomorrow," she yawned.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Minerva admitted. "Go to sleep, Fiona." Her sister's eyes drifted shut and she relaxed into dreamland. Nathaniel's snores soon joined Fiona's muted snuffles, but she remained awake. While the cars rambled on, Minerva stared out into the darkness, broken only by headlights and starlight.

A tawny owl awaited her when she retired to her bedroom, an envelope on the desk.

"I'll have a response," she told the owl. She retrieved a treat for the owl, quill, ink, and parchment from her satchel. Turning on the desk lamp, Minerva extracted and unfolded the missive. It contained the expected warning from the Ministry.

_Dear Miss McGonagall,_

_We have received intelligence that an Impediment Curse was performed in your vicinity this night at fourteen minutes past eleven. Upon investigation, it was determined that a single Muggle would have been witness to the event. Furthermore, no wand was registered at your location and the magic performed was deemed to be an unintentional flare-up instead of a directed spell. Supplementary inquiry may be conducted, but given these facts, punishment has been waved as it appears to be an incidence of accidental magic which had no permanent effect._

_Nonetheless, underage witches are not permitted to perform spells outside schools, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C)._

_In addition, we remind you that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlock's Statute of Secrecy._

_Cordially,_

_Herbert Walden_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

Minerva had anticipated the contents. She had never violated the Decree for Underage Sorcery before and she had suspected the Ministry would interpret the incident as accidental magic. After all, few sixth years could perform a nonverbal and wandless Impediment Curse capable of freezing the target into a living statue. Given that she was unaware of the accuracy of the Ministry's information, Minerva had decided to respond to the Ministry's letter even as she had returned to the ballroom. She composed a reply:

_Mr. Herbert Walden_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

_Dear Mr. Walden,_

_Having received your notice, I feel it expedient for me to explain the circumstances surrounding the incident this night. While in attendance at a local gathering, I was influenced to give attention to a young man who behaved inappropriately towards myself. Naturally, I sought to separate from him. However, to my alarm, he pursued me into the library where I had retreated alone, and prevented my exit using physical force. At that moment, I believed myself to be in danger of serious harm and my magic reacted due to that belief. The person involved suffered no lasting ill effects and, being quite intoxicated at the time, will most likely dismiss the occurrence as a figment of his imagination. There were no other witnesses to the event._

_In light of these details, I hope you will absolve me of any malicious or rebellious desire to defy Wizarding law. I assure you; I have the utmost respect for the laws concerning magic usage by underage witches and wizards. Should the Ministry wish, I would be willing to answer any questions or provide additional particulars. If that is required, I would ask that it be done as soon as possible in order that I may put this unpleasant episode behind me._

_Regards,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_1 January, 1934_

Sealing her letter, she attached it to the owl and opened the window for him. With a hoot, he swooped out. After latching the window shut, Minerva caught her head in her hands.

A shiver roused her; she became aware of the thinness of her dress and the absence of sleeves. Once changed and lights extinguished, she buried herself beneath the covers. Silence ruled the room, bereft of the nighttime noises of roommates– the sound of turning over in bed, mumbling in sleep, getting up for a drink of water, or whispering secrets. To fill the quiet, her mind kept revisiting the past few hours, again and again, repeating and reimagining the scene in the library. Sleep eluded her for a long time.

* * *

When she descended in the morning, she followed the chatter of voices into the sitting room. A Christmas tree bedecked in garlands, tinsel, and glass ornaments guarded a stack of presents. Fiona and Nathaniel eyed those packages, intent upon taking the offensive and depriving those parcels of their wrappings.

"Good morning, sweetheart. You must have been tired. I thought you would be up an hour ago," her mother said from the sofa.

"Happy New Year, Minerva," Kenan offered, standing beside the tree.

"Good morning," Mr. McGonagall stated with a meaningful glance at the clock.

"Good morning, I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

"It's alright," reassured her mother.

"I was about to come and get you," declared Fiona. She flitted over to Minerva and tugged her nearer to the tree. "Now that you're here, we can open the presents."

"Kenan, you choose the first present," their father directed. Parcel by parcel, Kenan distributed the gifts to their recipients. Each present was unwrapped individually as the rest of the family waited with greater or lesser amounts of patience for their turn. Fiona squealed in delight at the two dresses, a bottle of delicate perfume, a bracelet, and a bureau set containing mirror, brush, comb, and nail file in a monogrammed box. Jewelry, including a rose brooch from Minerva, and a fur stole appeared for Mrs. McGonagall. The boys received watches from their father, trinkets from siblings, and clothing from mother. Mr. McGonagall accepted a tie clip, cigars, and books.

Minerva thanked her parents for the garnet ring and the new pair of gloves, but her attention diverted back to her siblings' selections. _The World As I See It_ by Albert Einstein, _Brave New World_ by Aldous Huxley, and _The Shape of Things to Come_ by H.G. Wells entreated her to lift their covers and delve into their pages, curled up on her bed with a cup of tea.

"I hope you like it," Fiona had voiced when Minerva unwrapped her gift of Einstein's collection, "Mr. Palmer said you probably would when I asked. Do you?"

"Yes, very much, thank you," she had replied, smiling.

"Good. You don't mind that I had to ask?"

"Why would I mind? It was thoughtful to ask to ensure that I would like your present."

Fiona had beamed and proclaimed, "I'm glad. I love the perfume – where did you buy it?"

"In Hogsmeade, I simply requested one without any enchantment upon it." Satisfied, Fiona had gone to admire the filigree heart pendant given to their mother by the boys as a joint gift. Minerva had yielded to temptation, the allure of uncharted pages impossible to deny when the books rested at her fingertips.

"_The essential difference between the world before the Great War lay in this, that before the storm of distress and disillusionment the clear recognition that_ –"

"Minerva," she startled into the physical reality at her father's call. Rising, she walked with him to his study. Paneled in dark wood with a prevalent aroma of scotch and smoke and a ponderous desk with a black leather chair behind it, her father's authority dominated the room. This was forbidden territory, entry permitted only with express permission. Seating himself behind the desk, Mr. McGonagall regarded his daughter. Dissatisfaction accentuated the lines of his face, a severe expression with which Minerva was quite familiar.

Perhaps because of its frequent appearance, it failed to inspire the same level of discomfiture in her as it produced in any other member of the family. Minerva volunteered nothing, waiting for him to broach the issue.

"Explain your actions last night," he ordered. "What justification could you possibly have for acting in that insulting manner towards Bryce Clayton?"

"Why do you assume I am at fault?"

"Because he looked he had seen a ghost after the pair of you disappeared. What did you do to him?" He rose from his seat, using his height as a tool in an attempt to intimidate her.

"I made it clear he was to leave me alone, that I didn't want anything to do with him."

"Minerva, in a few years, a shorter period than you might believe, you will be considering marriage. Your mother and I think that it would be beneficial if you started to be introduced to eligible young men now. When it's time for you to settle down, you will then better know your potential suitors. Bryce Clayron would be a suitable match," her father enlightened her.

"Suitable match…a suitable match," Minerva repeated incredulously. "What qualifies him as a suitable match, Father?"

"His family lineage and background, despite their current situation, his status as the only son of a sizeable estate, his father and I have been considering a partnership – "

"And a marriage would be a permanent tie to solidify that partnership? By marrying me, he gains the financial assistance of our family and we gain the titled connection?"

"Do not interrupt me," he nearly shouted. "We were thinking of your future, a possibility for when you come of an age to marry."

"Did you consider that I might decide _not_ to marry?" she cried out. "Or if I do, that I would prefer to choose my own husband, not one preselected by you and mother to be 'a suitable match'?"

"You should be willing to accept the judgment and wish of your parents in this matter. You will retain some choice, but we want to ensure that you choose a young man who has the proper qualifications and connections, someone of suitable rank and status. "

"Those qualifications, that suitability, seem to have little to do with my happiness, with the type of husband my intended would be, or with how he would treat me, and everything to do with society and business. What did you plan to tell this appropriately qualified individual about my rather unusual abilities? Or did you hope I would cease being a witch when I am married?" accused Minerva.

When he failed to respond, she exclaimed indignantly, "You did. You thought that being a wife would somehow cure me of this strangeness, that I would forego my powers in favor of the delights of housekeeping and motherhood. Allow me to disillusion you – I'm a witch, Father. That fact will never change."

"Be that as it may, you still have not explained yourself satisfactorily. Why did you feel the need to, to do whatever it is you did to Bryce Clayton? _What_ did you do to him?"

"This is why I was forced to act against him," she declared. Thrusting her left arm out, she shoved the sleeve aside. A ring of bruising, red darkening into purplish-blue, encircled the wrist, nail marks visible. Shock showed on her father's face for a split second before he covered it. "He tried to grope me on the dance floor. When I refused to allow it to continue, he followed me into the library, blocked the door, and threaten to make me 'pay for it.' That was he grabbed me," she held up the wrist.

"He demanded that I apologize and offered to let me recompense him for the injury. I didn't ask what he meant by that nor did I apologize; I decided that I needed to leave immediately. I slapped him, he attempted to attack me, and I immobilized him. I left." She pulled down her sleeve with a sharp jerk. "Bryce Clayton is a brute who believes his vaunted pedigree gives him the right to molest young women of supposedly lesser families like ours. As I recall, he said we were 'a pack of upstart shopkeepers' and I should be grateful for any and all of his attentions." Her father lowered himself into this chair rather slowly during her explanation, his wrath at her unable to be sustained.

"What do think, Father? Is he still a suitable match?" Minerva challenged her father, hands slamming onto the tabletop. "Is this the type of man you want me to marry?"

After a protracted pause, he admitted, "I must have been misinformed. I shall have to speak to Sir Clayton about his faulty opinion of his son's temperament. Clearly, the boy must be adept at hiding his more disagreeable traits from his father."

Recognizing these statements as the closest to an apology her father would give, Minerva refrained from expressing her doubt that Clayton senior was ignorant of his son's behavior. While he tried to conceal it, she recognized the tick in his jaw that betrayed her father's anger although it was now focused on the offenses of the Claytons rather than on her.

"I presume you used your…your powers to immobilize him?" he questioned.

"Yes."

"I thought you weren't allowed to use them outside of school."

"Extenuating circumstances – the threat of serious physical harm," stated Minerva. "I've already informed the Ministry of the situation. They issued me a warning."

"Good. You're excused." She nodded curtly and turned to leave. When she was about to close the door, he said, "Put a cold compress on the bruise. It should help."

* * *

On Friday afternoon, Mrs. Potter and Edward arrived to escort Minerva to their home. Goodbyes and promises to write exchanged, they used a Portkey to transport to London. They materialized in the sheltered garden space in front of the Potters' townhome, located within easy distance of Ministry of Magic and Diagon Alley. Trim in ivory white, the house consisted of three stories, basement, and attic. Comfortable, yet stylish furniture decorated the rooms which lacked the overabundance of flowers and pastels Mrs. McGonagall favored. Minerva recalled the layout when she entered the house: public rooms on the ground floor, master suite and library on the first, guest bedrooms on the second, and Edward's attic bedroom at the top.

Her usual bedroom, overlooking the street, awaited her. The room drew its colors from the painting of a clipper ship at sea, the sails of its four masts billowing in the wind while its crew scampered about the deck. Having sent Circe ahead, the owl swooped to her shoulder as Minerva stepped inside. She stroked the spotted crown while Circle fluttered her tail in excitement.

"How are you?" she asked. Circe hooted, nudging her affectionately. After removing her outerwear, she climbed the steep staircase to Edward's room. The roof sloped at odd angles, Quidditch posters bedecked the walls, socks strewn here and there on the floor, and Uric lounged on the bedspread. With a bark, he launched himself toward her.

"Uric!" Edward called out from the bed. He had a broomstick servicing kit out and his Nimbus lay across his knees. The crup ignored him.

"It's fine, Edward." Minerva scratched Uric behind the ears. "Why did you bother bringing your broom home?"

"I might have the chance to practice," he declared.

"In the middle of London, in winter?"

"I'm hopeful," he grinned. They talked for a few minutes about Quidditch, classes, and what presents they had received. After that, Minerva left him trimming twigs to spend the time until dinner reading in the library.

Diagon Alley bustled in the crisp, clear Saturday morning. Swathed in cloaks, witches and wizards flitted in and out of the stores, greeting friends with "Happy New Year!" and chatting on the doorsteps. The Potters and Minerva had lunched in the Leaky Cauldron on pot pies before heading into the Alley. Arranging to meet in three hours back at the Leaky Cauldron, Edward's parents walked in direction of Gringotts while he and Minerva halted at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

They wandered from shop to shop: the apothecary, Eeylops Owl Emporium, Flourish and Blotts, Gambol and Japes. Having replenished Edward's supply of joke products, the pair decided to stop in at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

Although ice cream was still available, the scent of hot chocolate infused the cafe. Besides plain chocolate, Fortescue's boasted flavors such as Candy Cane, Fire Mouth, and Snowflake, a concoction which contained layers of whipped cream suspended in the chocolate.

"Minerva, Edward!" shouted Veronica Marchbanks from a corner table. Beside her, Richard Fawcett waved. "Come sit with us." The two retrieved their drinks, plain without whipped cream for Minerva and Candy Cane for Edward, and joined the fifth year prefects.

"How are you?" Veronica asked. "How has your holiday been so far?"

"Pretty good, Mum and Dad bought me tickets for all of the Arrows' summer games."

"Neat. Are you staying with Edward, Minerva? I thought your family lived in Scotland?" she said.

"They do which is why the Potters offered to allow me stay with them this weekend. Otherwise, I would have an extra day traveling from Aberdeen in order to catch the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross," explained Minerva. "It also gave me the chance to visit Diagon Alley."

"That's good. Did you stop by Flourish and Blotts?" inquired Richard.

"Of course we did," Edward interjected. "It's Minerva, what do you – oow!" A kick in shins silenced him. At his accusing glare, she acted nonchalant.

"Yes, we did," Minerva replied.

"I had to replace my copy of _Magical History: Places, People, and Events. _Bletchley spilled an Invigoration Draught on it, completely ruined it. I saw they had a new display of Muggle books called 'science-fiction.'" He glanced at Minerva. "What is it? Have you read any of those types of books?"

"It's a genre of Muggle literature that addresses the future. The writers tend to envision a future based upon scientific and technological advancement, some of them either utopian or dystopian. They also can create a fictional world with different laws or foundations than ours. I've read several books in the genre."

"Interesting," Richard commented. "What do they mean by science exactly? I've never been quite sure."

"In the Muggle world, science involves the exploration of and experimentation upon the natural world in order to determine the rules by which our universe functions. Scientists gather knowledge to help explain the world," she clarified.

"What would they explain?" asked Veronica.

"Why objects fall to the ground, why sky is blue, how magnets are attracted to each other, all manner of questions."

"Why?" Edward queried. "Why would they want to know those things?"

"For either the pure knowledge itself or for to apply that knowledge to facilitate the control or manipulation of the world for the benefit of humanity. Science has enabled the creation various forms of technology: trains and airplanes for quicker transportation, radio and telephones for communication, and vaccines to prevent diseases."

"So those things, they're based on this science?" Veronica asked, her expression confused.

"Yes."

"Is science a power?" Richard asked.

"No. It's a way of thinking about the world using an analytical approach. The underlying assumption is that the universe operates according to certain logical principles which can be found through observation and experimentation. These principles control every aspect of the physical world, directly or indirectly." Noticing their continued incomprehension, Minerva stated bluntly, "It's rather difficult to explain if you are accustomed to the magical world."

"I'd say," declared Veronica, "It sounds complicated."

"It can be. I learned some basic science – geography, geology, botany, a bit of physics, mathematics – before I came to Hogwarts. In the summers, I try to keep up by reading through my brothers' textbooks or other sources."

"Better you than me," said Edward. "A magical education is about all I can manage." The younger students nodded vigorously. "And sometimes I have trouble with _that. _How is your O.W.L. year going?"

"Not bad," answered Richard.

"Except for the amount of homework," Veronica added. "They say it's for exam preparation, but this is plain ridiculous. Even McKinnon and Slughorn have begun assigning long essays. McKinnon gave my class a paper, a full three feet, on the symbols in dreams and their common misinterpretations due the day before holidays started."

"What about Transfiguration?" asked Edward.

"Dumbledore's a good teacher. He's more relaxed than Professor Forsyte and more…energetic," Veronica glanced at Richards for confirmation.

"He tries to move about the classroom more and encourages us to work out the spells ourselves if possible," offered Richard. "Sometimes, he talks about the concepts behind the spell which can be a bit too esoteric for most of us to follow."

"He does have a habit of saying or talking about odd things at times," said Veronica. "Last class, he told us about a Muggle theory that everything is made up of these tiny things called, let me think, aton? No, that's not quite right…"

"Atom," Richard supplied.

"Thanks. Can you imagine that?" Veronica demanded. "They're supposed to be so small that you can't even see them. But how would you know if they really exist if you can't see them?"

"No offense, Minerva, but Muggles are peculiar," said Richard.

"I assure you, Richard, they would consider the magical world as strange as you consider theirs."

"Evelyn promised to take me to a picture show this summer. Have you been to one of them?" inquired Veronica, naming a fellow fifth year who had one magic and one Muggle parent.

"Yes," replied Minerva. "I occasionally go with my brothers and sister during the summer holidays."

"And you've never taken me?" said Edward indignantly.

"You never asked," she shot back. "I'll owl you next time if I know far enough in advance."

"Excellent."

"What have you seen?" asked Veronica.

"_King Kong_ with my brothers and _Little Women_ with my sister and mother." Minerva caught sight of a clock and rose. "I'll tell you about them on the train tomorrow if you want, but Edward and I need to be going."

"We'll see you on the train then," Veronica said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Edward, Minerva."

"Bye Richard. See you tomorrow Veronica."

"Goodbye." Minerva and Edward left the shop, rejoined his parents in the Leaky Cauldron, and returned by Floo to the townhouse.

* * *

"What is troubling you?" Professor Rosier's question startled Minerva. "I checkmated you in less than twenty-five moves, a feat I have not been able to accomplish since last spring. In fact, I believe the record stood at nineteen to fifteen at the end of the first term. I thought you might finish equal with me this year."

"I'm sorry, Professor." Seated across from Rosier in her quarters, Minerva examined the chessboard where a white bishop and knight pinned her king. Replaying the game in her head, she discerned several of the blunders she had made. A grimace appeared on her face.

"Don't apologize, Miss McGonagall. If it is something you would prefer not to discuss, I would understand. Perhaps another game instead?"

"Yes. I'll do better this time," Minerva declared. The game commenced, pieces gliding across the board. A white pawn, then a black one, a knight, a rook, another pawn, they played without further conversation. The pieces, taking their cue from their commanders, abstained from the usual chatter. The crackling of the fire and the footsteps of the pieces were the only sounds heard for almost half an hour. Now and again, Rosier would look up from the game, her eyes fixing on her student as Minerva pondered her next move. Minerva never noticed; the carelessness of their earlier match replaced by an intense and unwavering concentration.

"Well done, Miss McGonagall," Rosier pronounced when Minerva captured her bishop with the white queen.

"Thank you, Professor." Advancing a rook two paces, Rosier waited for a countermove. Minerva made none, merely stared at the board.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be powerless? To be a Muggle?" Minerva asked abruptly.

"Yes, I have."

"At home, I have to try to forget who I am, what I am. I have to pretend to be as mundane as any other Muggle without any extraordinary abilities whatsoever." Minerva spoke in a quiet, yet distant manner, as if her thoughts were centered in another time and place. She pressed her lips together, clasping her hands in her lap and her eyes falling to them.

"We were at a ball. I don't like balls or other such occasions, Professor. I never have." She paused, watching the shadow patterns on her fingers, cast by the flickering firelight. "I had to dance with the son of one of my father's business partners. I only agreed to it on the condition that my parents would not attempt to pair me off again that evening." Her hands clenched.

"He _touched_ me on the dance floor. I asked him to move his hand, but he refused so I left him. I went into the library – alone. Maybe I should have told my father, but I thought that would be the end of it. I didn't think that he would follow me." Trapped in the memory, she fell silent.

"But he did," Rosier stated.

"Yes, yes, he did." Minerva avoided Rosier's eyes, staring into the fire.

"Did he hurt you?" asked Rosier in a gentle tone. Minerva looked back at her professor.

"No," she declared. "No more than a bruised wrist from when he grabbed me. He refused to let go so I slapped him, hard. He tried to attack me – I used an Impediment Curse to immobilize him. Of course, when I returned home, I found a warning from the Ministry waiting for me. No punishment, only a warning. Nevertheless, I wrote back. I wanted them to know the exact circumstances."

"Very prudent. Did they reply?"

"Yes. They informed me that they considered the matter closed with no further need of investigation or censure, but reminded me that the record would be kept. I am to be more circumspect in the future."

"If the Ministry declined to pursue the matter and you dealt with this boy, what continues to disturb you?" Rosier inquired.

"I can't help but imagine what might have happened, if I hadn't been a witch. I'm not sure what he would have done or if I would have been able to escape without…" Minerva searched for an appropriate word, "injury." She drew in a deep breath, Rosier saying nothing.

"He was bigger than me, probably stronger even if he was drunk which likely made him more dangerous and unpredictable. We were alone in the library behind a closed door. If I had shouted, I don't know...if anyone would have heard me through the door and over the noise of the ball." Minerva shook herself sharply. "I'm sorry, Professor. You're right – I shouldn't allow this to continue to bother me. It happened, but I'm fine. I'm being foolish, overemotional, by dwelling on it. It's my move – bishop to E4."

"I don't believe it's foolish or self-pitying," Rosier asserted. Minerva raised her gaze to meet the elder witch's eyes, finding a compassionate understanding in them. "Experience is a teacher, Miss McGonagall. Sometimes, it forces us to reevaluate ourselves, our place in this world, to imagine alternative possibilities."

"I suppose it does. I escaped without harm because I was a witch; I was more powerful than Bryce Clayton through some accident of birth. But if I hadn't been a witch…if I hadn't been born with these abilities…what might have happened? I don't like to think of myself as conceivably being that vulnerable."

"No sensible person would, Miss McGonagall. Rook to C3." They resumed the game, again in silence. A number of moves later, Minerva's queen slid three spaces and directly into line with the white king.

"Check, Professor."

"King to H1."

"Knight to I3. Check and mate."

"Well done, Miss McGonagall."

"Thank you, Professor," she replied. "I should return to my common room."

"Of course." As Minerva moved towards the door, Rosier remarked, "Miss McGonagall, in chess, the recognition of a potential weakness provides the opportunity to correct it. You have always been a quick learner as demonstrated by your victory. You improve your game by learning new strategies and tactics. Goodnight."

Slightly confused, Minerva responded, "Goodnight, Professor." During her ascent to Gryffindor Tower, she pondered Rosier's parting comments. She arrived at no firm conclusions about them, but tucked them away in her memory. The Slytherin Head rarely said anything without a purpose.


	7. Chapter 7

Queen of Swords: Chapter Seven

Thank you to my reviewers. I love seeing that kind of notifications in my inbox. Also thank you to my beta lullabymoon who helps to ensure that the final product is worth posting.

Hogwarts, 1934

* * *

"Excuse me," Dippet tried to attract the students' attention at breakfast. "Excuse me, students.' The conversations gradually petered out.

"Thank you," he said when the hall was silent. "I have an announcement to make. As many of you are no doubt aware, today is Valentine's Day. Due to the requests I have received, I have decided to allow a small celebration this afternoon. Classes will end at two thirty." Cheers and excited chattering greeted this pronouncement and Dippet waited for them to subside before continuing. "At three thirty, the Great Hall will be opened for a Valentine's Day Tea." Twitters erupted from the female population.

"Yes, yes, please settle down," Dippet fluttered his hands with an indulgent smile. "There will be seating for couples and for groups. Supper will be postponed until seven o'clock. In addition, a table has been placed in the Entrance Hall. If you wish to send someone a message, there will be carnations of various colors and paper available to do so. They will be delivered to their recipients throughout the day during breaks or lunchtime."

As he retook his seat, Minerva watched the reactions of the student body. The girls giggled, blushing and casting glances at the boys. The majority of the boys, on the other hand, appeared in a state of mingled shock and trepidation.

"He's kidding, right?" muttered Walter.

"Cheer up," Edward patted him reassuringly on the back. "Irene will probably send a few dozen flowers and assume you will take her to the Tea."

"Not funny. I've been trying to tell her that I don't fancy her for a month, but she doesn't seem to understand a word I'm saying. Or she says I'm just testing her." He stared glumly at the remains of his kippers and eggs. He pronounced, in the tone of a condemned man, "This is not good."

Breakfast finished, the sixth years exited the Great Hall and Walter ducked behind Donald to hide from Irene. The fifth year Ravenclaw, not to be deterred, cried out his name which forced him to emerge.

"Hello, Irene," he said dully to the slender, strawberry blonde who had zeroed onto him like a hawk on its prey. She ignored the rest of the group, smiling blithely at Walter.

"Hello, Walter. Isn't it wonderful? I can't wait for this afternoon! Will you walk me to class?"

"I have to get to Astronomy, sorry," he replied.

"Oh," she said, "well, I'm going right now to write you a little note." She gestured towards the table set to one side of the hall. Already, a knot of students had gathered around it.

"Er – thanks," Walter managed. Beaming, Irene pecked him on his cheek and dashed over to the table. He scrubbed at the cheek once her back was turned. "Let's go before she comes back." The others followed him upstairs, heading for classes or for Gryffindor Tower to grab an extra hour of sleep or study.

After depositing their bookbags in their dormitories after Care of Magical Creatures, Edward and Minerva reconvened in the common room. Peering at his reflection in the window, Edward tilted his head from side to side and attempted to flatten the tufts sticking upwards.

"Well, how do I look?" he asked. "I'm meeting Rachel, the seventh year who's the alternate Chaser for Hufflepuff?"

"Yes, I know who she is, Edward. You look fine." He glanced at her. Unlike the other girls trickling down the staircase, Minerva had chosen not to rearrange her hair or slip on jewelry.

"Are you meeting anyone? If not, I'm sure Rachel won't mind –"

"I volunteered to be a monitor for the first half hour, remember?" The prefects, along with the Head Boy and Girl, were supposed to supervise the Tea.

"Oh, right. What about after your turn is up?"

"Don't worry about me, Edward," Minerva told him. The pair exited the Tower and walked downstairs to the Entrance Hall. The doors to the Great Hall remained closed while a growing crowd of students gathered, buzzing with excitement. Spying Rachel, Edward threaded his way over to her.

Minerva found the three other prefects assigned to her shift which included Blanche Watson, a Hufflepuff who shared her Arithmancy class.

"Hello, Minerva," Blanche called as Minerva approached.

"Hello, Blanche, Daniel, Howard," she greeted the trio.

"How are your calculations coming along?" asked Blanche. "I've been having trouble with the third problem."

"There's an example problem in chapter eighteen which is nearly identical," replied Minerva.

"Thanks. I've been stuck on that one for two days."

"You're welcome."

"This is a nice surprise, isn't it?" Blanche didn't wait for a response before continuing. "I always wished that there was something special for Valentine's Day. When my shift is over, I'm meeting Orion and Elsie who is coming with Jason Davis."

"Professor," Minerva nodded, directing Blanche's attention to Merrythought. The Deputy Headmistress advanced on the prefects.

"Good afternoon," she said.

"Good afternoon, Professor," responded the four students.

"Now, you have been asked to supervise the Tea to ensure that a –" she adjusted her monocle " – that a certain respect for propriety is maintained. If you could just stroll about the room, that should be enough to ah…to prevent any sort of mischief or indiscretions." When the prefects indicated that they understood, she declared, "yes, good. Well, I'll let you in first. If you could follow me?"

Merrythought led them through the crowd to the doors. Gesturing for the other students to move, Merrythought heaved one side open and allowed the prefects to enter.

With the tables vanished and the décor transformed, Minerva hardly recognized the Great Hall. Creeping vines suspended flowers along the walls while the coos of doves emanated from the rafters. In the center of the chamber, a fountain bubbled gaily, adorned with roses. Tables, for couples and for groups, were scattered across the floor and given a semblance of privacy by folding screens, semi-transparent and patterned with spring blossoms. White tablecloths and vases showed off the brilliant bouquets of reds, pinks, yellows, oranges, even a few delicate blooms of pale blues and violets. Minerva suspected her sister would have been very envious if she could have seen it.

As the waiting students filed into the hall, their eyes widened to see the alteration. Most of the girls appeared delighted, excitedly pointing out a particular detail or rotating on the spot. Resigned to their fate, the boys managed to be impressed as well. Within a few minutes, the tables filled. Couples tended to be comprised of the older students while the younger ones congregated in groups. Petite-fours, tea, and miniature sandwiches materialized on the tables.

For the next half-hour, Minerva wandered among the tables. She occasionally stopped to talk when someone would hail her or when she needed to remind a couple of their rather limited privacy. Once or twice, if the pair was oblivious to her, she would cast a jinx from several paces away to cause a brief spark of static electricity. That proved generally effective.

Duty ended, she collected a cup of tea and left the Great Hall. The china warmed her hand as Minerva climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. She located an alcove, a recess in a twisting of the corridors near the library, which boasted a broad window ledge upon which Minerva seated herself. The saucer of the cup met the stone with a _clink_ when she set it down beside her.

From an inside pocket of her robes, she extracted a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Having been shrunk, the package fit into the palm of her hand. Minerva restored it to its original size. The tea had cooled considerably so Minerva cast a reheating charm on it before returning her wand to a pocket.

The string scratched against her fingertips as she undid the knots and Minerva brushed it aside to unwrap the heavy parchment, crackling and rustling. Coiling the string and folding the parchment, she tucked the wrappings into a pocket. She ran her fingers over the title, the smoothness of the lettering a contrast to the textured cover. Although the book had arrived in the post yesterday, she had not found the time to begin reading. Now, with everyone else downstairs, she was granted a couple of quiet hours. Sips of the tea, which was lightly flavored with peaches, interspersed the turning of pages.

Dimly, she heard the clock ring out four thirty, then five o'clock. Footsteps roused her from her reading. A flicker of scarlet, combined with the length and weight of the strides, divulged the identity of the individual before she had even glanced up.

"Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore."

"Good afternoon, Miss McGonagall. May I inquire as to what you are reading?"

"_Ancient Wizarding Traditions and Stories from Communities Across the Globe_," she said, lifting the book to shown him the cover. "I heard about it when I stopped in Diagon Alley over the holidays. They offered to send it to me when it was published."

"Do you have an interest in history? I don't believe you are currently taking a N.E.W.T. in the subject?"

"I do have an interest in history, Professor, but not to a degree which would induce me to pursue a N.E.W.T. in the subject. My current focus is on the social background of the Wizarding world and its customs."

Dumbledore nodded, and stated, "Professor Slughorn mentioned that you were Muggleborn." Minerva's lips tightened at this pronouncement.

"Did he," she said. It was not a question. Dumbledore caught the inflexions in her voice and the sudden stoniness of her expression.

"My apologies, Miss McGonagall, if I have offended you somehow…."

"You have not offended me, Professor. I'm simply unsurprised that it would have been Professor Slughorn who mentioned that fact to you. Is there something I can help you with, Professor?"

"Ah, I see, a gentle hint that I am interrupting your reading time. No, I was simply curious as to what inducement had led you away from the festivities below. Have you been reading this entire time?"

"No, I came up here after monitoring the Tea for half an hour."

"You don't care for our little Valentine's Day celebration?" he queried.

"I prefer to take advantage of the respite in another manner."

"Well, I wouldn't bother you any longer, Miss McGonagall. Enjoy the remainder of your Valentine's Day."

"Same to you, Professor." As he walked away, Minerva's eyes drifted back to her book. The golden rays of the setting sun lingered for a little longer, but then disappeared. As this rendered reading impossible and signaled that it was time to return to the dormitory, she marked her place with a snatch of parchment and vanished her empty teacup.

"Peeves!" Along her way to Gryffindor Tower, Minerva spotted the poltergeist stretching trip wires all along the corridor. He was just adding one at the top of a flight of stairs. "Peeves, stop that!"

"Ooohhh, looky who it is – Minnie! Why are you up here? No one wanted you to be his Valentine," he cackled. Minerva brandished her wand and the trip wires disappeared. Pouting, Peeves zoomed around her.

"Poor Minnie, no one asked her to the Tea, Peevsie knows why, she isn't even pretty. All alone on Valentine's Day, poor Min –" With a twitch of her wand, Minerva caused the poltergeist to be sucked into the nearest suit of armor. A second twitch and the helmet banged shut while a third produced a Silencing charm which stifled his yells and the clanging he produced trying to escape. Casting a sealing spell as a final thought, Minerva resumed her course for the dormitory. In several hours, she expected, Peeves would be able to escape when the spells faded.

In the common room, she found the other sixth years discussing the Valentine's Day Tea. Edward, who had chosen the last round of monitoring duty, had been jinxed by two fourth years determined not to be separated. His nose was slowly regaining its normal shape, having been elongated into a beaklike protrusion. However, this had not marred his date with Rachel. On the other hand, as he confided in her, it had earned him a considerable and pleasing amount of sympathy. The consensus reached by her yearmates declared the event to have been a success and that they wanted it to happen again. Marian and Donald appeared moments before they departed for dinner. Upon seeing them, the blushes on their cheeks caused Cecilia to comment slyly that 'it was about time!"

* * *

"Wands up. On my count, one, two, three!"

"Expelliarmus!" "Protego!" Spells flew through the air, ricocheting off walls and shields. Wands jumped out of hands.

"Stop!" barked Minerva. The air cleared, as the students righted themselves and retrieved lost wands. Strolling down the line, she paired them according to ability, divided the pairs, and directed the more competent pairs to one side of the room and the struggling pairs to the other.

"Paul," she called out to the Head Boy. His Ravenclaw tie slightly askew, the stocky seventh year glanced in her direction. "Would you watch that side?" She gestured to the more advanced group.

"Sure, Minerva," he replied.

Minerva turned to address her charges, "I think we should practice the spells individually." Consisting of mostly fifth years, with a couple of fourth and one fellow sixth, the group bobbed their heads. "Form a single line facing away from the other group, towards the wall. We'll try the Shield Charm first. Watch me."

Placing herself before them and raising her wand, she exclaimed, "Protego!" A shield winked into existence, visible only for a fraction of a second. When she dropped her arm, it dissipated with another flicker.

"Your turn," she instructed, moving so as to be out of the line of fire in case of miscasts. "Keep trying until you can cast a stable shield twice in a row." While they worked, she corrected each student on their form or pronunciation."

"You want to bring your arm further up, chest height or higher."

"The accent is on the middle syllable, pro-TEY-go not PRO-tey-go."

"Your goal is ward off an attack. You want to concentrate on protecting yourself from whatever spell an enemy has sent at you."

Fifteen minutes later, Minerva halted the shield practicing and ordered them to divide into their pairs to switch to the Disarming Spell.

"Gertrude, could you assist me?" The fifth year stepped forward a bit warily. "I'm going to cast the Disarming Spell on you as an example. I don't want you to try to stop me. Ready?"

"I guess."

"Expelliarmus!" Gertrude's wand soared out of her hand and into Minerva's. Returning it to the owner, she said, "Thank you. Would anyone like me to repeat that?" At their negatives, she continued, "Please form a double line facing your partner. I want those on my left to cast first. On three, one, two, three." While they alternated casting, Minerva moved among them to adjust their spellwork. After seeing some improvement, she asked them to switch between _Expelliarmus_ and _Protego_. One student of each cast a Disarming Spell as the other used a Shield Charm to defend and then they would swap what spell they used.

"Stop! That's enough for tonight, I think," she declared a halt to the practice at twenty minutes to nine. With thanks, the students bid her goodnight as they left. She and Paul arranged the desks in their proper places from where they had been shoved against the walls.

"This was a good idea to have people practice spells together," Paul remarked.

"I never intended for it to become a regular session. Edward and I simply started meeting anyone who wanted a bit of extra help," explained Minerva.

"I know, but it is still helpful, especially for some of the younger students. I wish someone had thought of this during my O.W.L. year." As they exited the classroom, Edward poked his head out of the next room.

"Done?"

"Yes," replied Minerva. "Are you almost finished?"

"I am now." He pulled his head back into the room and shouted, "We're done!" While the other students gathered their belongings and left, the prefects congregated in the hallway.

From Edward and Minerva, the unofficial teaching staff had grown to include some of the best students in each area. Agatha Delancey, in her final year in Gryffindor, could pinpoint any astrological feature in an instant. William Griffiths, in addition to being a Beater for Hufflepuff, consistently scored the top marks in the seventh year Charm class. For Potions, the duo of Beatrice MacDougal and Simon Graves, sixth and fifth year Ravenclaws, huddled over cauldrons, attempting to determine the missteps made by less proficient students.

The entire scheme had begun when Minerva had grown tired of constantly scheduling times to meet with students who had requested her help. With the permission of Professor Merrythought, Minerva announced that she would be available on Sunday evenings in an unused classroom on the first floor. Edward, upon hearing this, volunteered his time as well. Over the past month and a half, the idea had spread. Depending on the attendance and subjects, the group currently occupied one to three room every evening. The prefects took it in turns to spend an hour or two tutoring, once or twice a week. The older students tended to, when they were present, pitch in and assist the younger ones as well.

"Abraxas Malfoy came yesterday," Beatrice revealed. She shook her head in disbelief, shrugging her shoulders. "And he was actually quite helpful. He kept a little second year from spilling a Color Change potion all over herself." She tugged a classroom door shut and the group started ambling towards the Entrance Hall.

"That's – " Edward paused for the right word.

"Unexpected," finished William. "Although we have had students from all of the Houses come here."

"Yes, but, well…Slytherins usually don't mix with the other Houses. The ones who have shown up have all been younger, third year and below," added Agatha. "They might mix with Ravenclaws, _maybe_ Hufflepuffs, but not Gryffindors."

"I think it's a good thing," Paul declared. "If Malfoy approves, the rest of Slytherin will follow his lead."

"Yes, it would beeee –" William yawned mid-sentence "– be nice to see the houses getting along better. Goodnight, everyone." While he took the stairs down, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors climbed, heading towards their tower dormitories.

"Password?" demanded the Pink Lady when the three Gryffindors reached her.

"Liquorice Wand," answered Agatha. The Pink Lady smiled and swung open. In the usual pre-bed fashion, their housemates occupied every chair, lounged on the floor, or bent over a table, feverishly scribbling to complete some assignment.

Edward joined a game of Exploding Snap while Minerva secured a place at one of the tables. Ignoring the noise around her, she notated a copy of a treatise about full human Transfiguration. Although the rest of her class remained confined to minor self-transfigurations, hair color and so forth, Dumbledore had hinted that he might allow her to attempt a complete human-animal transformation soon.

She finished the treatise some time later, noting absentmindedly that the common room was now mostly empty. A couple of fifth years struggled with Silencing Charms in one corner; a seventh year prodded what looked to be a Herbology diagram, muttering to herself. Edward and Jordan lazily tossed a practice Quaffle back and forth. Directing her concentration to a runic translation, Minerva glanced up when Edward leaned against her table. He peered at the lines of figures, cocking his head to one side.

"When is this due?"

"Thursday."

"That's three days away!"

"I know."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Goodnight, Minerva."

"Goodnight." As midnight approached, the common room emptied, leaving only Minerva. She blew on her translation to dry the ink and rolled up the parchment. Crossing to the window, she opened it. Being the second week of March, the night was chilly, but the skies clear. A warming charm countered the cold. For a few minutes, Minerva gazed at the crescent moon amidst Virgo, Leo, and the trail of stars of Hydra. The breaths of night air she drew, long and deep, soothed her mind. The whirling activity of her thoughts subsided.

She closed the window, gathered her work, and headed for bed.

* * *

"Excellent. Thanks, Minerva," exclaimed Edward as she handed him an umbrella. A cloudburst had interrupted their previously pleasant walk to Hogsmeade. Minerva, summoning a pair of sticks to her, had transfigured them into umbrellas. Edward's displayed the silver arrow on blue field of his favorite Quidditch team while Minerva's showed her Gryffindor colors.

"You're welcome." She stepped around a forming puddle as they continued onwards towards the village, shielded from the rain. Several students passing by threw their umbrellas envious looks as they hurried to reach the cover of the shops.

With muddied hems, the pair arrived at the main street of Hogsmeade. Although the rain was lightening, they ducked inside Scrivenshaft's to wait for it to completely stop.

"Try this one," Edward said, waving a quill in front of Minerva's face. She took the quill and tested in on the bit of parchment provided for that purpose. The quill illuminated the capitalized M's of her name as if in a medieval manuscript with a figure of a minstrel reclining on the 'M' of Minerva and Celtic knots entangling the 'M' of her last name. "What do you think?"

"It's a bit ostentatious although the charm work is impressive."

"The charm work of course," he replied teasingly. "Well, I think it's neat." Minerva passed the quill back to him, moving to a display of eagle feather quills. A sign advertised an anti-breaking spell on the quills in addition to a refilling charm which could be used if the proper inkwell was purchased.

After testing several, Minerva chose a sturdy white feather, tipped with black. Her current quill had finally succumbed to the multitude of essays required by a ten O.W.L., seven N.E.W.T. student. It had become rather wobbly to write with, threatening to snap at any moment. She paid and, as the rain had ceased, the two exited the shop.

They stopped briefly in at Zonko's, then Honeydukes. Edward unwrapped a Chocolate Frog and offered a piece to Minerva as they strolled towards the Three Broomsticks.

"No, thank you."

"Bridget Wenlock," he announced, looking at the card. "I have one of her already." He placed it in his pocket. "Maybe I can trade it with someone else. I'm still missing Glanmore Peakes and Mopsus."

Edward gobbled the last piece of the chocolate. Holding the door open, he allowed Minerva to precede him into the Three Broomsticks. The warm interior buzzed with the chatter of students.

"I think I see a table in the back," Edward said. He stood on his tiptoes to see better. "Yes, come on." They dodged a tray of butterbeers carried by a distracted waitress. Stepping over legs and edging around table corners, they made their way towards their target.

"Miss McGonagall, Mr. Potter, how fortunate to run into you," Slughorn's voice halted their progress. He stood and waved them closer. "Please, come, sit down. This place is absolutely packed, empty seats are at a premium. Come, sit with me, I insist."

Edward sighed and muttered, "If you insist."

Slughorn beamed. He didn't appear to notice the glance they exchanged; it ranked Slughorn's request alongside collecting bubotuber pus. They approached his table. His companion, a wizard with a goatee and dressed in dark blue robes, rose.

"Lloyd, this is Miss Minerva McGonagall, one of our brightest stars, and Mr. Edward Potter, I'm sure you'll have run into his father at the Ministry. Students, may I introduce Mr. Lloyd Stretton, Assistant Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Mr. Stretton and I attended Hogwarts together."

"It's a pleasure to meet both of you," replied Stretton, extending his hand for them to shake. As they sat down, the two students opposite the adults, he continued, "I know your father, Mr. Potter. We occasionally cross paths in the lifts at the Ministry although he works in the Wizengamot Administration Services. Horace said you're interested in following him to the Ministry?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good, the Ministry is always pleased to see a family tradition of service upheld by the next generation. And, Miss McGonagall, Horace tells me that you are also interested in a career at the Ministry?"

"Yes, sir," Minerva said.

"Miss McGonagall is the most talented student I have ever seen in my classroom, Lloyd. She is simply exceptional – especially in those areas requiring a wand – Transfiguration, Charms, and so forth," proclaimed Slughorn, smiling at her in expectation of some sort of response. Minerva managed a nod and this seemed to satisfy the Potions professor. "Yes, simply extraordinary. When I heard that she might be considering the Ministry, I thought you would be interested to meet her, Lloyd. Your department would be the ideal starting point, considering her abilities."

"It's quite possible. With the right mentors," Stretton motioned with his hand at himself and Slughorn, "and your aptitude, you could go far."

"I'm afraid I was not intending to apply to the Department of Magical Transportation," she answered.

"Well, perhaps I could persuade you to change your mind? With your knack for Transfiguration and Charms, you would find yourself highly valued in my department. Out of curiosity, may I ask as to your O.W.L. results?"

"Ten Outsandings." Stettons eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair, a difficult feat as the brown locks were combed slickly back.

"Ten Outstandings," he repeated.

"Yes, sir."

"What were your elective subjects?"

"Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures," she answered.

To her irritation, Slughorn appeared rather proud of her accomplishments, grinning and nodding in the fashion of the owner of a prize racehorse showing it to fellow enthusiast. Minerva bit the inside of her cheek. The momentary prick of pain dampened the urge to say something quite impolite attesting to the fact that she was not one of his pets.

"I understand you are currently taking seven N.E.W.T.s?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I see that Horace did not extravagate in the least. I would strongly encourage you to consider my department. You could be a senior member within, oh, ten years or even less. From there, your advancement is positively limitless, with the proper guidance and connections of course," Stetton declared. He leaned forward towards her. "I would be happy to take you under my wing."

"That is an interesting offer, Mr. Stetton. I'm sorry, but I must decline at this point. I will, however, keep it in mind."

"Miss McGonagall, are you sure?" Slughorn interjected. "You could do very well."

"Yes, think of your career," added Stetton. "In a few years, I may very well be named to head the department when my superior steps down. I would be in an advantageous position to help you achieve your goals. I might also mention that Magical Transportation is known for being a pleasant working environment with certain perks. For example, we test out all the new broomsticks, Horace says you play Quidditch, and we can create Portkeys at most any time for our own convenience."

"My answer remains the same, sir." At her continued refusal, Stetton slumped against the booth and sighed heavily.

"May I ask what department you would choose over mine, Miss McGonagall? I think I deserve to know my competition."

"I intend to apply to the Aurors. I plan to also apply to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and to the Department of Mysteries. The Aurors are my first choice, but prudence dictates that I consider other options as well."

"The Aurors? That is a difficult path."

"That does not bother me, sir. I believe myself capable of rising to the challenge. Thank for your offer, Mr. Stetton, and I apologize if you feel you wasted a trip here."

"No, no, not at all, Miss McGonagall. Do keep my proposal in mind, in case you have a change of heart in the future. Professor Slughorn can connect you to me if you change your mind. Mr. Potter, you wouldn't be interested in Magical Transportation by any chance?" Stetton tried to salvage some value out of his excursion. To his right, Slughorn had lost his grin and was shooting her a disappointed look.

"No, sir. I don't have Minerva's gift for wand work. My strongest subject is Care of Magical Creatures; I'm going to apply to that Ministry department. I'd like to work in the Beast Division," explained Edward.

"I'm sure you will do fine there," replied Stetton. He cleared his throat and then pointedly consulted his watch. Assuming an apologetic expression, he turned to Slughorn. "Well, Horace, it seems that I must dash. I have an invitation to tea with Joscelind Wadcock, the star of the Puddlemere United who recently scored a dozen goals against the Ballycastle bats, and a friend or two from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. If you could…"

Slughorn slid out of the booth to allow Stetton to stand. He paused, donning his cloak.

"Miss McGonagall, Mr. Potter, it was nice to meet you both. Miss McGonagall, remember what I said, if you should have second thoughts, please don't hesitate to get in touch. Mr. Potter, please pass my greetings onto your father if you have the chance." He smiled broadly at her before turning to Slughorn with an outstretched hand. They pumped hands. "Horace, I expect we will see each other soon at some affair or another."

"Of course, Lloyd. Enjoy the remainder of your day, and do remind Joscelind that I would very much appreciate a line or two from her," said Slughorn.

"I will make sure to mention it to her. Good afternoon," he stated, tipping his hat to them. After Stetton had vanished from their sight, Slughorn dropped into his seat. His eyes fixed on Minerva.

"Miss McGonagall, I hope you consider Lloyd's offer further before deciding to refuse it entirely. I assure you, he would be most pleased to hear from you if you rethink your decision. This is an excellent opportunity for you," he declared. "I thought you would be receptive to such an offer which is why I asked my friend to meet me – in order that he might meet you, and Mr. Potter, naturally."

"Professor, your efforts on my behalf are noted. Unfortunately, I believe you were misinformed about my interests, or perhaps, you were only told that I was considering applying to the Ministry and not the specific department which I favored. It's understandable that your efforts were misdirected." Minerva slipped from the booth and Edward followed suit. "Thank you for your trouble, Professor. Edward and I should be leaving as well. I have a letter to post before we must head back to the castle."

"Ah, if you can't stay a bit longer, you must give me the opportunity to improve my acquaintance with you, Miss McGonagall. If I knew your interests better, I could be quite helpful. Mr. Potter has been to one of my little get-togethers and enjoyed it I believe." He clapped Edward on the shoulder.

"It was nice, I suppose," Edward said as a response seemed desired and expected.

"There, you see, Miss McGonagall. I happen to be hosting a gathering sometime this week, whenever is convenient to my students of course. In the past, you seem to be always busy when I ask, so I thought I would consult you as to your free evenings before I scheduled it. Which evening would you prefer?" he solicited.

"Between my prefect duties, Quidditch practices, other commitments, and my studies, I don't have a free evening this week, Professor." As Slughorn opened his mouth to reply, Minerva insisted quickly, "I have to be going. Good afternoon, sir." She gave him a curt nod and started towards the door.

Lingering a second, Edward said, "Goodbye, Professor. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

"Goodbye, Mr. Potter."

"He won't stop until you agree to attend one of his Slug Club meetings," Edward remarked when he caught up with Minerva at the entrance. "You should just come to one of them. It's not that terrible."

"It's the principle of the matter," she declared as they emerged from the Three Broomsticks.

"Do you actually have a letter to post?" he asked for Minerva was strolling in direction of the post office. "I thought that you made that up to get out of there."

"Yes, I do."

"Why bother posting it in Hogsmeade when you could have used Circe or one of the school owls?"

"It's for Nathaniel."

"And?"

"He's at boarding school. An owl delivering mail would be cause a considerable disturbance. I could have sent it to my parents first and asked them to forward it to him, but that creates a longer delay. If I mail it through the post office, they can transfer it to the Muggle system and the letter will reach him the fastest."

Setting a bell chiming, Minerva opened the door to the post office. Hundreds of eyes in every shade of gold, yellow, and orange gazed down at them from the rows of perches. The swishing sound of feathers and the hoots, mixed with an occasional squawk or screech, surrounded them. At the counter, an elderly witch was reading _Witch Weekly_, her spectacles less than three inches away from the page.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Minerva called.

"Oh," the witch's head popped up. "Oh, hello, dearie, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in." She straightened and smiled, waving for them to approach the counter. "How can I help you?"

"I would like to send a letter through the Muggle post, please," replied Minerva. She extracted an envelope from the inside pocket of her robes.

"No problem, dearie, I simply need to check the postage. May I see the letter?" Given the envelope, the witch consulted a chart pinned to the wall. "To Edinburgh…that makes it…three Knuts." Minerva handed her the bronze coins. "Thank you."

"How do you send a letter in the Muggle way from an owl office?" Edward inquired.

"It's very simple," said the witch. "I place the letter in this slot here –" she carried the letter to a slit in the counter "– it drops into the container below and is then transported to one of the central Muggle post offices. It will just appear in one of their piles of mail with no one the wiser."

"Can you deliver Muggle post to wizards?"

"Of course. Any post with a wizarding address is directed to the Diagon Alley owl office which sends it on to the correct recipient. It adds a day – " A sudden shriek emanated from behind the counter, interrupting her. The shrieks repeated several times. "I hear you," she muttered. She leaned down and lifted a basket onto the counter. A chestnut colored owl rested inside the basket, a bandage wrapped around one wing. As she and Edward continued talking, Minerva drifted to the long-distance perches.

"This is Bates. He was injured on a run, but he tends to try to fly anyway so I keep him near to watch him."

"He's a Tawny, isn't he?" asked Edward.

"Yes, about three years old and one of my most reliable carriers." The owl flapped his unhurt wing vigorously which shook the other one. "Now, stop that, or you will hurt yourself further," the witch scolded. With a disgruntled hoot, the owl ceased his efforts. He shuffled round until his tail faced them.

"As you can see, he is not a very good patient," said the witch, "grumpy and irritable."

"Do you know all of them by name?" he inquired.

"Yes, I do. That's Queen with the white tipped wings and the crown shaped spot on her forehead, Rowena who has never failed to deliver a letter – she can find anyplace and anyone – Bard, this little Boreal here, he sings constantly," she indicated each owl as she spoke. "I know them all quite well. How else could I choose the proper one for a delivery?"

Stroking the speckled black and white plumage of an eagle owl, the witch explained, "For example, this is Sam. He's not the brightest chick in the nest, but he is strong and trustworthy. I use him for packages. As long as they're directed to common or easily found destinations, Sam is my first choice. And Angel, the Snowy over here, she is my urgent letter carrier because of her speed and her intelligence. She is also less affected by the cold so I tend to send her out more frequently during the winter than the other owls."

"But I shouldn't bore you with my prattling, not any more than I already have," she concluded. "Is there anything else I can help you with? Or I'd be happy to answer any other questions?" Minerva, who had been listening, returned to Edward's side.

"Thank you, but it looks as if it might rain again. We should try to make it to the castle while the sun lasts."

"You're probably right, dearie. Please come back on your next Hogsmeade weekend. Most people never permit me to rattle on about my birds. Luckily, my husband keeps the shop with me so he is as fond of owls as I am and doesn't mind. He's visiting our niece and nephew today which is why I'm minding the store by myself. Now, you had better get going and beat those clouds."

"It was a pleasure talking to you, ma'am," Edward said.

"Goodbye and thank you," offered Minerva. With another tinkling of the bell, they exited the shop. A drizzle began halfway back to the castle. By hastening their steps, they dashed inside the Entrance Hall just in time to escape a drenching.

Later that evening, Dumbledore came up to Minerva when she was leaving the Great Hall after dinner.

"Miss McGonagall, a moment, if you please?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do you have any idea why Professor Slughorn would ask me to release you from prefect duties this week?" questioned her Head of House. "He mentioned something about being overworked. If you are feeling overtaxed, I would like to know and perhaps we can find a solution."

Minerva's jaw clenched; it was bad enough that Slughorn kept pestering her about his Slug Club, but to imply to another professor that she was struggling…

"Professor, I assume you that I am perfectly capable of fulfilling my responsibilities. Please tell Professor Slughorn that his concern is unwarranted. I believe I am intelligent enough to know my limits, what I can and cannot handle. My present workload is within those limits. Your solicitude is appreciated, sir, but unnecessary." She paused a moment, and moderated her tone. "I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to sound that impertinent."

"It's alright, Miss McGonagall. I shall inform Professor Slughorn that I am unable to free you from your prefect duties this week."

"Thank you, Professor."

"I hope the rain didn't ruin your Hogsmeade visit," remarked Dumbledore.

"No, Edward and I avoided the worst of it. Good evening, Professor."

"Good evening, Miss McGonagall."

* * *

Review please? *puppy-dog eyes* Please?


	8. Chapter 8

Queen of Swords: Chapter 8

Smiles for my reviewers and for my beta lullabymoon.

Hogwarts, May 1934

* * *

The old maxim proved true when the showers and grey skies of April ceded their reign to May. Students emptied the library and dormitories, preferring the fine spring lawn and sunshine for their studying. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures suddenly became the favorite classes. Professors Tofty and Dumbledore both moved a lesson or two outside, using pebbles and insects in their demonstrations.

"Why did I take that class?" Basil posed to the sixth years at dinner. He shook his head a bit, and asked, "Why in Merlin's name did I think N.E.W.T. History of Magic was a good idea?"

"Not a clue," Walter answered.

"You notice that the rest of us had the sense to drop it?" remarked John. "You're the only one daft enough to continue. Even Minerva –" he pointed his fork at her " – decided she couldn't tolerate another two years of Binns." She glared at him. John ignored her; his toes were fortunately out of reach. "Five years of Binns was five _boring_ years too many."

"Then why didn't any of you stop me?" demanded Basil.

"We enjoy watching you suffer," replied John.

"I spent the entire class period staring out the window. I can't even remember what we were supposed to be covering today. I try, but all I can come up with is how much I would have liked to be outside," Basil said.

"Cheer up, Basil." Edward patted him on the back. "You only have one more year of Binns." A groan suggested that this reassurance did more harm than good.

"Minerva, Edward, Basil," called out Jordan Matterson as he strolled down the table towards them. "I've managed to get the pitch for a short practice session after dinner. As soon as you're finished, grab your brooms and meet on the field."

"Aye, aye, Captain!" chorused Basil and Edward with a salute.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Minerva answered more sedately. Matterson nodded and continued along the table to alert the rest of the team. She waited while Basil and Edward devoured slices of cherry tart. The three then retrieved their broomsticks from the Tower and headed for the Quidditch Pitch.

"Has anyone seen Shannon – oh, sorry I didn't see you there behind Phoebus, Shannon." said Matterson as the team assembled.

"That's alright, Jordan," Donnelly replied understandingly. "I'm used to it." At five foot one in her socks, Donnelly was the smallest and slightest of the entire team. Her petite size increased her maneuverability and speed, an asset as the Seeker.

"Now, I don't want to stay out here too long – I want you to be well rested for tomorrow – so we are just going to toss the Quaffle around a bit. Shannon, I'll give you the Snitch to practice. Basil, you and I will be working with a Bludger on accuracy for a few minutes, then start lobbing shots at the Chasers and Keepers."

Matterson knelt to open the ball box. Careful to keep it restrained, he handed the Snitch to Donnelly who mounted and flew off. About midfield, she released the Snitch, gave it a head start, and zoomed after it. The Quaffle went to Martha Gamp. Minerva and Phoebus Lynch followed her into the air while Edward took his position in front of the goal posts. Matterson, Basil in tow and Bludger secured under his arm, joined them above the pitch.

"Nice try, Phoebus!" shouted Edward as he threw the Quaffle back to the Chasers. Minerva caught it, turning to face the other set of goals. Gamp and Lynch sped into place just in front of her on diagonals to her left and right, a Reverse Hawkshead. The formation increased the unpredictability of the Chasers and provided some protection for the middle Chaser. However, it required additional practice in coordination because the forward Chasers couldn't keep the carrying Chaser in a direct line of sight. Speeding down the length of the field, the Chasers rotated positions. Gamp shot the Quaffle through a hoop, Minerva circling to catch it, and the trio continued repeating the maneuver as they flew towards Edward. This time, a quick triple pass of the Quaffle netted a goal past him. They kept up this pattern, choosing a different maneuver each time.

After a few minutes, the two Beaters began knocking Bludgers at the four. Forced to split by the Bludgers, the Chasers shifted into looser formations. Occasionally, Donnelly zipped across their paths in pursuit of the Snitch.

A whistle from Matterson halted practice. The sky had dimmed, stars beginning to emerge in the east. Balls collected, the team landed. Matterson replaced the balls in the case before addressing his team.

"Good work, everyone. I have a couple of pointers for you to remember. First, Malfoy knows that our Chasers are the backbone of our success. He has probably told his Beaters to focus on the three of you and for his Chasers to be aggressive. Minerva, Phoebus, Martha, I need you to be ready to adapt to any sort of interference without losing speed or the Quaffle. He will try to slow down our goals to give his Seeker a chance to catch the Snitch. We only lead Slytherin by sixty points, so if Avery catches the Snitch first, they win the Cup."

"Which brings me to my second point. Shannon, keep Avery distracted if you can. As long as our Chasers keep scoring, it is to our advantage for you to keep the Slytherin Seeker occupied rather than wasting time searching for the Snitch yourself while leaving Avery on his own. If you see the Snitch, go after it of course, but keeping Avery away from it is more important. If we can pull ahead by one hundred points, it won't matter if they catch the Snitch."

"Third point, Edward, the Slytherin Chasers are decent, but not superb. Lestrange is the best Chaser and I've noticed that he has developed a habit of shooting for the left hoop. The other two Chasers rarely try to score."

"Fourth point, Malfoy is probably going to rely on a Snitch capture to win. I think he will be playing defensively which caters to his team's strength, his Beaters. They will focus on blocking us from scoring rather than scoring themselves. Everybody clear on everything?" The team nodded.

"That's it. I want everyone to head straight to Gryffindor Tower and get a good night's sleep." While Matterson returned the ball box to the storeroom, the team obeyed his directive to return to the Tower. They lingered in the common room which was exceptionally crowded. Edward, Basil, and Lynch huddled over a piece of parchment, discussing the coming match. Gamp and Donnelly relaxed with a game of Gobstones while Minerva read a couple of chapters of a dusty Ancient Rune tome. Matterson, when he entered, set about a ritual servicing of his broomstick.

At ten o'clock sharp, Matterson steered them towards bed. The rest of the common room wished them pleasant dreams and their roommates promised to be quiet when coming to bed.

* * *

The following morning, Minerva and Edward proceeded down to the changing rooms after breakfast. Matterson was already there along with Donnelly and the remainder of the team showed up a couple of minutes later. They donned their robes, laced their gloves, and checked their brooms. Shoving in a last bobby pin to ensure that her hair stayed put, Minerva closed her locker. The team gathered around Matterson as the muffled footsteps and chatter of the crowd filtered through the ceiling.

"You know the maneuvers and you know the strategy. We can win this." He looked at each of them in turn. "That's all I'm going to say. Let's go."

Broomsticks in hand, the team emerged onto the pitch. The Gryffindors' collective roar of encouragement resounded in their ears, clapping their hands and flourishing gold and red pennants high. Waving to their housemates, the players approached the center of the field. Madam Reid, the Quidditch referee and teacher, waited with the ball box at her feet. From the opposite side of the pitch, the Slytherin team started towards Reid.

Minerva glanced at the crammed stands as she walked. Naturally, the sections for Slytherin and Gryffindor displayed only the appropriate house's colors, but the rest of the school appeared more or less divided between the two. The house chosen by the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs depended upon a variety of justifications for choosing one over the other. Slytherin Beater Davis' little sister, a Ravenclaw, clutched a pennant emblazoned with a silver serpent. Blanche Watson, a Hufflepuff prefect, was dating Lynch and had therefore borrowed a Gryffindor scarf from Marian. Some, Minerva knew, wouldn't support either team, but would cheer for a daring move or a favorite player.

"Excellent conditions," remarked Edward. "Clear skies with a bit of a breeze to keep us cool, but not enough to affect our flying."

"We couldn't have asked for better weather," Matterson said, smiling. They met the Slytherin team and Madam Reid. Matterson nodded and stretched out his hand. "Malfoy."

"Matterson." The Captains shook briefly.

"I expect a clean game from everyone," Reid stated. "Captains, are your teams ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered Matterson and Malfoy.

Reid cast a quick look in direction of the commentator's stand. Professor Berry waved at her; he oversaw Veronica Marchbanks who was fairly bouncing in place with excitement.

"Mount your brooms," Reid said as she turned back to the teams. "Kick off on my mark." Clamping her whistle between her teach, she bent down and released the two Bludgers and the Snitch. She grasped the Quaffle in one hand.

At the whistle, Minerva propelled herself skyward with a hard shove against the ground. The Quaffle soared into the air.

"Gamp in possession for Gryffindor!" called out Veronica. "Gryffindor Chasers heading for the Slytherin goal posts – bet they're hoping Malfoy won't have time to get in position."

Swerving to avoid a Bludger, Minerva dived for the Quaffle when Lynch dropped it. The stands flew by in a multicolored blur as the three dashed towards the Slytherin posts.

"McGonagall passes back to Gamp, another Bludger hit their way by Yaxley – pass to McGonagall – can Malfoy block it…NO HE CAN'T! Ten to Gryffindor!" shouted Veronica amidst the cheers and moans of the crowd. Malfoy hurtled the Quaffle to Davis. His teammates formed up around him with the Gryffindor Chasers in pursuit.

"Davis passes to Lestrange – Blishwick blocks a Bludger from Ehterington – Lestrange throws – aaannndd, yes, Potter stops it!"

Edward tossed the Quaffle back into play, pitching it almost straight up. Minerva, having anticipated this play, caught it and zoomed off. The other two Gryffindor Chasers met her midfield. Taken by surprise, the Slytherin Chasers and Beaters lagged behind.

"And Gryffindor in possession – McGonagall passes to Lynch – reverse pass to Gamp – drop pass to McGonagall – tosses it Gamp who flies at the goal – another test for the Slytherin Captain – Ahhh, Malfoy catches it."

"Slytherin has the Quaffle, Smith passes it to Davis – back to Smith – who drops it to avoid a Bludger – Lynch takes possession – Lynch throws it to McGonagall – making another run at Malfoy – TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Lestrange scored Slytherin's first goal a few minutes later, but Gamp countered the gain immediately afterwards. Forty-ten, fifty-ten, sixty-ten, the game grew fiercer. Sixty-twenty, seventy-twenty, eighty-twenty, the Chasers were bombarded by Bludgers from the Slytherin Beaters. Despite their best efforts, Matterson and Ehterington failed to deflect all of the missiles.

Minerva rolled, the Bludger a black streak in her vision as it whizzed past her. Unfortunately, Gamp wasn't quite quick enough to avoid the Bludger. She cried out – it had clipped her nose.

"Time out!" called Reid, blowing on her whistle. The Gryffindor team dived for the ground, Minerva and Lynch flying close to Gamp in case she needed assistance. She had her sleeve pressed against her nose. Blood darkened the fabric.

"Martha, are you alright?" Matterson asked.

"I'm fine," she answered, the words a bit garbled.

"Miss Gamp, let me see," demanded Reid. "No, don't tip your head back. That will just cause the blood to run down your throat…" She withdrew her wand and pointed it at Gamp's nose. "Episkey!"

Taking hold of Gamp's chin with one hand and tilting it, Reid touched the nose gently. "Is that better? Does anything else hurt?"

"No," Gamp replied. "Can you?" She gestured at her face and robes which were streaked with blood.

"Tergeo!" said Reid, vanishing the blood.

"Thank you."

Matterson offered, "If you would like to sit the rest of the match out, we do –"

"No, I'm fine, Jordan, I want to keep playing." Matterson scrutinized her for a moment before nodding.

"If you start feeling –"

"I'll tell you and you can replace me then." Determinatively, Gamp mounted her broom and looked impatiently at the rest of the team who copied her.

"Shannon, if you can, get the Snitch sooner rather than later," Minerva overheard Jordan muttering to the Seeker. "I'd rather not risk any more accidents and I want Martha to be checked out by the Matron as soon as possible."

"And she won't agree to that until the game is over – don't worry, Captain, I'll catch it soon."

Once the team returned to playing height, Reid's whistle signaled the resumption of the game. Davis slipped a goal past Edward almost immediately. A throw from Lynch brought Gryffindor back to a sixty point lead.

"And the Slytherin Beaters prevent McGonagall from getting a clear shot at the goal posts – Slytherin seems determined not to give the Gryffindor Chasers a chance to score – it's still ninety-thirty to Gryffindor," Veronica announced. "Slytherin can still win the game and the Cup if they keep Gryffindor from increasing its lead and if Avery catches the Snitch. Lynch passes to Gamp – "

"Donnelly's seen the Snitch!" Veronica yelled. "Yes, yes, she's seen the Snitch!" Doubling their clamor, the crowd surged to its feet. Minerva paused, along with the rest of the players, to watch.

Donnelly rocketed towards the base of the stands, arm outstretched. Speeding from the opposite side of the pitch, Avery attempted to reach her in time.

"Come on, Shannon, come on, Shannon," chanted Veronica in a hoarse whisper. "A few more inches – "

"YES! SHE HAS THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS THE MATCH AND THE CUP!" Diving to the ground, Minerva barely managed to slide off her broom before Gamp clamped her arms around her.

"WE WON!" Gamp shouted. Donnelly landed, Snitch fluttering in her raised hand. Gamp released Minerva to hug Donnelly, who stumbled backwards on impact. With many exclamations of delight, the team headed towards the teachers' stand where Dippet waited with the gleaming Quidditch Cup at his side.

As they climbed, Minerva felt the stands shaking from the cheering and stamping and clapping of the students. They met the Slytherin team in the teachers' stand.

"Malfoy," said Matterson.

"Matterson, congratulations," answered Malfoy, polite but stiff.

"You gave us quite a challenge," Matterson declared. The two Captains shook hands and the rest of the teams followed suit.

"Sorry about the nose," Blishwick apologized to Gamp.

"It's fine," Gamp replied, pumping his hand. "Madam Reid fixed it."

"Matterson," called out Dippet. He waved for the Gryffindor team to come stand by him. Beside him, Dumbledore beamed at his team. Casting a Sonorous charm, Dippet addressed the stadium.

"I am pleased to announce the winners of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. Well done, Gryffindor." He was obliged to wait for the roar to subside before continuing. "Captain Matterson, please step forward and accept the Cup."

"Thank you, sir." Matterson relieved the Headmaster of the Cup quickly, hefting it aloft. Chaos reigned after that point. Minerva found herself somehow back on the ground in the midst of the entire Gryffindor House, being thumped on the back, her hand shaken, and compliments shouted in her ears.

"Give us a chance to get out of these smelly robes," said Edward, extracting himself from a knot of fourth year girls. "Come on, Minerva." They found Donnelly and Gamp already in the locker room. Once changed, they slung their brooms over their shoulders. Enveloped again by the crowd, they were swept upstairs to Gryffindor Tower. Butterbeer flowed freely and treats of all varieties abounded. Dinner forgotten, the celebrations continued into the evening.

"It must be brilliant," Cecilia remarked to Matterson, "To win the Cup in your final year and as Captain."

"It is nice," he conceded.

"Are you planning to play professionally?" asked Veronica.

"No, I'm going to work for the Ministry, probably in either Magical Games and Sports or Magical Law Enforcement. Who has the Cup?" He peered around, spying it in the unsteady hands of a pair of third years. "I think I should reclaim it before something happens to it."

"Probably a good idea," Veronica said. "I wouldn't trust those two with a flubberworm." Minerva, Edward, Cecilia, and Matterson stared at her questioningly. She enlightened them, "They caused an explosion in Charms that I heard two corridors over. They are also responsible for toppling several suits of armor which almost squished Lillian Hubbard's pet toad."

Matterson, with a look of great alarm, strode over and retrieved the Cup. When he returned to them, he declared, "I'm going to give this to Professor Dumbledore. I don't want anything to happen to it. I'll be back in a few minutes. Minerva, would you come with me?" She agreed and they departed the common room.

"Why did you want me to come with you?" Minerva inquired as they walked towards Dumbledore's office.

"I wanted to know your thoughts on next year's Quidditch Captain. You, Basil, and Edward will all be seventh years and possibilities for the position. Basil has already told me he doesn't want it, but between you and Edward…" He paused, resting the Cup on a window ledge.

"Either of you would make a good Captain. Professor Dumbledore told me that he would base his decision mostly on my recommendation. I thought that I should talk to you before making my decision," he explained. "I don't want to cause any problems."

"Edward and I are friends, Jordan. There will not be any problems, whichever way you choose. However, if you are talking to me, I suspect that Edward is probably your first choice."

"Yes. I take it you don't have any objections?"

"No. Edward is the better choice," she stated. "He is more knowledgeable about Quidditch, and frankly, will have more time to invest in the Captainship than I."

"Good. I didn't really think that you would answer differently, but it was safer to be sure."

"I appreciate it, Jordan." Picking up the Cup again, they continued onwards.

"Come in," called Dumbledore when they reached and knocked on his door. "Mr. Matterson, Miss McGonagall, good evening." They entered to find him fiddling with an instrument which reminded Minerva of a spinning wheel except that it had two wheels.

"Good evening, Professor," offered Matterson. He placed the Cup on the desk. "I decided that the Cup would be safer with you. Gryffindor Tower is a little…eh…"

"Exuberant?" suggested Dumbledore. Matterson nodded. "Yes, I remember post-Quidditch victory celebrations quite clearly. After one particularly nerve-racking win, one of the Chasers and the Keeper tried to reenact a pivotal save in the common room." He smiled at their expressions, "As you surmise, this did not end well. Half a dozen students spent the night in the infirmary including the two team members. Apparently, broom control in such a tight space is less than feasible."

"I shall take care of the Cup, Mr. Matterson, as I'm sure you are anxious to return to the festivities. Please pass on my congratulations to the rest of the team. I am very proud of your performance this season," he finished.

"Thank you, Professor," they replied.

Once outside, Matterson turned to her and asked, "Do you think he was one of those flyers?"

"I would not be surprised if he was, assuming he played Quidditch," declared Minerva. When they approached the common room, Minerva noted the volume of noise emanating from the Tower. They climbed through the portrait hole, Matterson joining a group of seventh years. Minerva, on the other hand, reached for her wand.

"What are you going to do?" enquired Edward.

"Shield the common room to dampen sound. You can hear the party in the corridor and I don't fancy trying to sleep in the dormitory with this racket coming from downstairs."

"This is a new trick."

"I found a version of the spell in _Useful but Generally Forgotten Charms_. Go upstairs so you can tell me if it works," she directed.

"Bossy," he shot over his shoulder as he went. Minerva waited a minute for him to reach his dormitory, and then cast the spell. A few moments later, Edward reappeared. "It worked, of course. When has a spell not worked for you?"

"Goodnight, Edward."

"You're going to bed?" he asked incredulously. "Now? It's too early, and besides, this is a party."

"I didn't say I intended to go to sleep, Edward. I have had enough party for one night and my sister sent me a new book yesterday."

"A new book? I guess I should be astounded that you stayed down here as long as you have. Usually, you can't resist a new book." Ignoring her glare, he snagged a butterbeer and shoved it into her hands. "Here, at least take part of the party with you."

"Thank you," she replied sarcastically.

"You're welcome. Enjoy your book!" he called to her as she began working her way to the girls' dormitory entrance. Minerva retreated to her tower room, leaving the celebrations to continue into the night.

* * *

Exams finished, trunks packed, and summer waiting, the students boarded the Hogwarts Express. Several hours later, they unloaded themselves and their belongings from the train. Minerva ensured she said goodbyes to those students for whom this had been the final trip. Matterson leaned close to mutter to Edward, resulting in a surprised and pleased exclamation from her friend. Agatha Delancey told her that she trusted Gryffindor would be in good hands with Minerva and Edward as the senior prefects. Although, she said, Minerva would definitely be Head Girl rather than a mere prefect. Benjy Fenwick wished them the best for the Quidditch season next year. Paul Graves told her that he had already spoken with the remaining prefects and they wanted to carry on with the tutoring sessions next year, and by the way, Professor Merrythought had offered to sponsor it as a formal club.

"When can I come for a visit?" asked Edward as they prepared to exit into the Muggle world.

"I think July would be best. I'll owl you a few days before to arrange it. Provided you pass your Apparition test, you can apparate directly there."

"I won't apparate. I thought, since I'm trying to experience the Muggle world, I should travel the Muggle way," Edward declared. Minerva imagined him on a Muggle train, than in an automobile. The prospect seemed likely to end in some unfortunate conductor coming to the conclusion that Edward had escaped from a mental facility. Or Edward might accidentally wreck something. Or wind up in Ireland.

"Perhaps you should stick to Apparating," she suggested.

"Why? You don't believe I can navigate the Muggle world?" he huffed, offended by this lack of trust.

"Edward –" From the stubborn glint in his eyes, she concluded she would not be able to change his mind. "Very well. But, I will request that Hughes pick you up at the Aberdeen train station." They were ushered through the gateway to find the Potters and Hughes. After the usual greetings, inquiries about the term, and goodbyes, the group split. The Potters left for their London townhome while Minerva and Hughes were to catch the sleeper train to Aberdeen.

"You have one more year at Hogwarts, Miss?" Hughes asked when they were walking away.

"One more year, Hughes."

* * *

Please review and feel free to give constructive criticism or ask questions.


	9. Chapter 9

Queen of Swords: Chapter 9

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in this update. Real life interfered. Thank you to my beta, lullabymoon, and to my reviewers.

Also, please keep in mind that what seems normal to one group may be bizarre to another culture (there's a short scene in which this applies). No offense is intended.

Summer 1934

* * *

Edward was bored. When deprived of friends and the tea trolley stocked with candy, travel by train lost much of its allure. He had convinced his parents to allow him to make the trip alone. He had, after all, turned seventeen two weeks ago and was thus considered an adult. Per Minerva's instructions, he had left anything obviously magical at home which included many of the items that could have held his attention such as his copy of _Quidditch: Tactics and Moves to Beat the Other Team (If They Don't Own This Book Too)_ or his pack of Exploding Snap cards. His wand had also been prohibited – she had stated that there was no need for it if he wanted to experience life as a Muggle.

His fascination with Muggle contraptions and Muggles in general had lasted through the previous evening and sleep had helped to pass the time. However, he now had nothing to do except watch the Scottish countryside slip past. He left his sleeping compartment, eventually striking up a conversation with a traveling American. The American, upon learning of Edward's ignorance in regards to a game called baseball, proceeded to educate him on the sport. An hour or so later, the train slowed to a stop. Edward seized his bag and hopped down to the platform.

"Edward!" For a moment, he failed to recognize Minerva in her Muggle outfit, a crisp gray skirt and collared navy blouse. His own clothing for the weekend had been purchased recently with much help from a puzzled Muggle shop assistant.

"Minerva," he called, moving towards her with his small suitcase in hand. "How are you? And you must be Fiona," he said with a smile for the girl standing beside his friend. In flowered print dress, the younger McGonagall grinned, sticking out her hand to shake.

"Yes, I am. I insisted upon coming with Minerva to meet you. I've never met anyone else magical besides Minerva and Professor…" She glanced at her older sister.

"Professor Forsythe," supplied Minerva.

"Professor Forsythe when he came to talk to Father and Mother about Hogwarts. Are all your family wizards or witches?"

"Yes, they are. My family is one of the oldest wizarding lines."

"Did they all go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Where they all in Gryffindor?"

"No, not all of them. My grandmother was in Ravenclaw and I have a great-uncle who was in Hufflepuff. There's even a few who were in Slytherin."

"What classes do you take? What spells can you do? When did you first do magic?" Fiona pelted him with questions.

"Fiona," interjected Minerva gently, "allow Edward the chance to answer your questions. He will be here for the entire weekend. This way, Hughes is waiting outside with the car." On the ride home, Edward and Fiona tossed questions back and forth. Did he and his parents wear robes all the time? What do Muggles do for fun (adding that Minerva was not the best person to ask about this)? Did his parents use spells at home and what spells? How fast could a car go? Did wizards have radio? Did she have any embarrassing stories about Minerva to share?

"Minerva never does anything embarrassing," Fiona answered this last question with a sad shake of her head.

"Never?" repeated Edward, disappointed.

"Never," confirmed Fiona.

"We're here," Minerva said. After meeting Mrs. Weaver, the sisters escorted Edward to the parlor to greet their mother.

"Mother, this is Edward Potter. Edward, this is my mother, Patricia Adair McGonagall," Minerva introduced them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McGonagall."

"Welcome to our home, Mr. Potter. I'm very pleased to have you here. Minerva has never brought anyone else to visit and I hope you will enjoy your stay."

"I'm sure I will and please, call me Edward."

"Edward then, please let me to show you to your room." She conducted them upstairs and opened the door to one of the guest bedrooms. "The bathroom is two doors down and my sons' rooms are right across the hall. They are currently in the village. Do you like the room?"

"Yes, thank you, it's very nice," replied Edward. Decorated in darker shades of green with mahogany furniture, the room had a definite masculine appeal if a bit more ostentatious than his room at home. He laid his suitcase on the bed.

"Ma'am?" A maid stood in the doorway.

"Yes, Rose?"

"Telephone for you, ma'am. It's Mrs. Hobson."

"I'll be there in a moment, Rose."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Excuse me, Edward," Mrs. McGonagall said to her guest.

"Of course."

"Minerva and Fiona can show you the house and grounds. Lunch will be served at noon which is when you will meet my sons. Please don't hesitate to ask if you need anything."

"Thank you, Mrs. McGonagall." When she had left, Edward asked, "Where are your rooms?"

"Opposite and at other end of the hall," replied Fiona.

"I have the corner bedroom on the left," Minerva clarified. "Fiona's room is next to mine. We have time to show you the downstairs before lunch." When they finished the tour, Edward having been particularly impressed by the conservatory's mechanisms, they stepped outside to visit the garage and stables. Edward promptly extracted a promise of a ride sometime during his stay. As they were walking back towards the house, her brothers came into view, ambling up the drive.

"Nathaniel, Kenan!" shouted Fiona, waving at the pair. The boys hastened to meet their sisters and the stranger.

"Kenan McGonagall," announced the older brother, not waiting for either girl to make the introductions. "This is my brother, Nathaniel."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Edward Potter, a friend of Minerva's from school."

"Yes, she mentioned you were coming for a short visit." He checked his watch. "It's twenty minutes to noon. We should wash up and change for lunch," he directed to Nathaniel.

Allowing Kenan and Nathaniel to go inside first, Edward muttered to Minerva, "Change?"

"I think washing your face and hands and combing your hair will be enough. You're a guest, and therefore not subject to the same rigorous standards as Nathaniel and Kenan." Lunch passed quietly, interspersed with questions to and from Edward. Afterwards, Nathaniel joined Minerva and Edward on a ramble around the property. They invited Kenan and Fiona, but they both declined. When they returned to the house, Nathaniel dragged Edward off to his room to show Edward the model airplanes he had built. Minerva, consigning Edward to her brother's hands, used the time until supper to practice her music.

At the table, her mother informed them, "I'm afraid that my husband will not be joining us today or tomorrow. He would have liked to meet you, but unfortunately business keeps him in town until sometime Sunday."

"In town?" Edward asked in an undertone to Minerva.

"My father has an apartment in Aberdeen which he uses when he feels he cannot afford to be away from the main offices. He usually conducts some business by telephone from home. However, if he is at a critical stage or dealing with a difficult problem, he prefers to stay in town."

"Minerva mentioned that you wanted to go to the cinema," said her mother to Edward. "We could drive into Aberdeen tomorrow."

"I would like that, thank you," he replied.

Edward thoroughly enjoyed the cinema the following afternoon. Minerva and Nathaniel had chosen _The Scarlet Pimpernel_. By the end of the picture, he had a list of questions about the Muggle world for Minerva to answer_. _Beginning with…

"Where can I learn to use a sword?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"You can learn it at my school," said Nathaniel. "We have a fencing club."

"Do you think Professor Merrythought would approve a fencing club at Hogwarts? It could be considered Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"No." Minerva winced at the thought of Hogwarts students being given sharp pointed objects. "No, she would definitely not approve a fencing club." To cheer Edward up, she steered him towards the ice cream shop where they had agreed to wait for her mother and sister. An ice cream sundae remedied his disappointment.

"Edward, did you like the picture?" enquired Mrs. McGonagall when she and Fiona joined them half an hour later.

"Yes, it was very good."

"I'm glad. Minerva, the dressmaker said that she will need you to come for a fitting sometime next week if the gown is to be finished on time. I told her I could bring you on Thursday afternoon."

"If you don't mind, mother, I would rather have Hughes take me. Besides, I thought you had received an invitation to Mrs. Holden's luncheon on Thursday."

"If that is what you would prefer, I would like to attend the luncheon."

"I believe I can manage a visit to the dressmaker by myself."

"That's settled then. Your appointment is at two o'clock."

As they were leaving the shop, Edward asked Minerva quietly, "Why didn't you want your mother to come with you?"

"If she came, the appointment would take twice as long and she would be the one deciding on the details of the gown. If I go alone, I have a better chance of wearing a gown I might actually tolerate and in which I will be comfortable. I can also spend the extra time in a bookshop."

"Clever."

"Thank you."

"What is this gown for? I thought you didn't like formal events where you had to dress up?"

"My parents host an annual dance at the end of summer. I am obligated to attend."

"I could invite you to spend that day with us?" he suggested.

"No, thank you. It's only one night and it helps to maintain the illusion that I am a normal daughter. I doubt they would allow me to miss it. Besides, this is the last year I will have to attend. Once I am seventeen and of age, I won't have to continue to appease them now and then by playing the dutiful and utterly mundane daughter," Minerva explained. Any further conversation was curtailed as they slid into the waiting car with the others.

On Sunday, Edward experienced the puzzling ritual of church. He glanced about the chamber. It vaguely reminded him of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, except much smaller and with lots of benches instead of house tables. The speech, given by a man in black robes at some sort of stand at the front, confused him. What was so extraordinary about turning water into wine? Granted, he was unsure if he could manage it, but Minerva certainly could. Was this Jesus a wizard?

When he muttered these thoughts to her, she promptly instructed him not to mention those ideas to anyone else. She then handed him a book entitled _Bible_ which she had opened to a specific passage. While the man in the black robes droned on, reminding him of Binns, he read the pages she had indicated. It clarified nothing. Somehow, this child was supposed to save the world? It was an interesting story, but what in Merlin's name did it mean to all these people? Perhaps he should have taken Muggle Studies after all.

When the service ended, they immediately returned to the house for a substantial luncheon. As the weather was fine, Mrs. McGonagall ordered it set out on the terrace.

"Would you like to go riding this afternoon?" asked Minerva. "We have enough time to teach you the basics."

"Sure," Edward nodded enthusiastically. He was flying on a broomstick by the age of three. How hard could riding a horse possibly be?

"Please remember to be back well before dinner, Minerva. Your father will be here," her mother said.

"Yes, Mother."

Laughing, Minerva clutched the wall of the barn to hold herself upright. Nathaniel had given up the battle and had slid down to the floor. He was cackling. Edward glared at both of them. It was rendered completely ineffectual by the straw sticking out of his mouth and in his hair. Duchess, the dun colored mare, snorted. She had dumped Edward, arms flapping and with a girlish shriek, into the dirt when he had tugged on her mane a bit too hard. Minerva extended a hand to help Edward rise. He brushed himself off and stared at the animal.

"Give her these," Minerva directed, dropping a pair of sugar cubes into Edward's hand. Edward obeyed, stroking the mare's neck and apologizing. Before long, the horse bumped her head against his palm, a clear sign that all had been forgiven.

"What do you say we try this again, girl?" asked Edward to her. He remounted properly this time and sat waiting for Minerva and Nathaniel to do the same. Minerva mounted a gray mare with black socks while Nathaniel climbed astride a chestnut gelding with a white stripe on his forehead.

"Minerva, are you sure you have the right saddle?" enquired Nathaniel of his sister.

She sent him a cool look and answered, "Yes."

"We'll start slow," said Nathaniel. "Squeeze your legs to tell her to go forward. Tug gently on the reins to tell her to stop or to guide her. Duchess will follow Minerva's horse, Mist, and I will be behind you." After walking for a bit, Minerva increased the pace to a trot.

"Do you mind if I go on ahead?" asked Nathaniel. "I'll meet you at the rowan tree." Minerva nodded and he cantered away. She slowed to permit Edward to come alongside her.

"Why did Nathaniel ask if you had the right kind of saddle? Is there more than one kind of saddle?"

"Yes, there are several different types of saddle including Western, English, and sidesaddles with particular versions specific for jumping or hunting and so forth. Traditionally, a lady rides sidesaddle with both legs on one side of the horse. I think it's quite ridiculous so I tend to ride astride unless with my parents or Kenan. My father demands that I ride sidesaddle. I didn't tell Will that I would be riding, only to saddle these three for an afternoon ride so he wouldn't use the sidesaddle. Nathaniel won't tell my parents and, if they find out, I'll be the one in trouble, not Will." Will Jones served as the groom in addition to being a manservant within the house.

"It sounds as if a sidesaddle would not be comfortable or safe," Edward commented.

"It isn't. Astride is much safer. However, sidesaddle is supposed to be more modest and ladylike as well as accommodating a woman's skirts. As I said, I find it ridiculous." Ahead of them, Nathaniel reached the tree and circled it neatly.

"He's good, I think. When did you start learning to ride?"

"All of us began lessons at eight or nine. My father insisted that a proper member of the gentry would be able to demonstrate a credible level of horsemanship. Nathaniel is probably the best out of the four of us. Kenan is capable, but it doesn't interest him while Fiona avoids riding unless forced to by my father."

"And you?"

"I enjoy it when I have the time although I do not claim to be particularly adept." After catching up with Nathaniel, he led them along his favorite pathways in the area surrounding the house. They returned to the house with plenty of time to wash up and change for dinner.

"Mr. Edward Potter, I presume?" A firm handclasp followed this pronouncement. Edward noted how Mr. McGonagall's eyes scrutinized him. Accustomed to Minerva's keen gaze, he was not disconcerted, but rather impressed by the familial resemblance. Clearly, his friend had inherited more than merely physical looks from her father.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm sorry my business kept me in town during your visit. You leave tomorrow morning, I believe."

"Yes, sir," replied Edward. This satisfied the older man for the moment and he gestured for Edward to take the seat on his left. The rest of the family seated themselves. Silence reigned until the dessert course was presented. Edward, having been forewarned by Minerva, waited for McGonagall senior to speak first. Minerva had informed him that her father was likely to question him regarding the Wizarding world.

"Edward, I understand that you are from an entirely wizard family?" McGonagall finally posed.

"Yes, I am, sir."

"May I ask what is your father's occupation?"

"He works at the Ministry of Magic, sir, in Wizengamot Administration."

"Wizengamot Administration?"

"It's our version of a court system, sir."

"This Ministry of Magic, does it work with our government?"

"No, sir. Not unless there is a serious problem that the Ministry feels the Muggle – non-magical – world should be aware of." Edward glanced at Minerva whose attention had been commandeered by her mother regarding a garden party or some such event. He turned back to Mr. McGonagall. Kenan was listening intently while Nathaniel seemed bored.

"Sensible. I quite agree that, excepting extraordinary circumstances, our two worlds should remain independent. I'm curious, however, as to what happens to young witches and wizards after they leave Hogwarts. My daughter has been rather vague on that subject."

"It depends, sir. Most of us will seek employment. I intend to apply to the Ministry. Other students chose to work in various magical businesses, for example in an apothecary or a greenhouse, or careers such as Healing or professional Quidditch."

"Could you explain what you mean by Healing and Quidditch?" questioned Kenan. Edward stared at him for a moment, wondering how he didn't know about Quidditch considering his sister's position as Chaser. Fortunately, Edward then remembered that Minerva had told him she had never revealed this to her parents or older sibling. She had claimed that her parents would forbid her from playing. He cast another look at Minerva. Surely despite that, she could explain these things better to her family than he could.

"Healing… it's called medicine in your world. A Healer is our equivalent of a…doctor, I think that's the right term. Quidditch is the most popular sport in the Wizarding world," Edward answered.

"How do you decide upon an occupation?" asked Mr. McGonagall. "You mentioned that you are following your father into the Ministry. Is this common?"

"Well, sir…many of our families pass their knowledge and experience onto the next generation. We have many businesses that have been in the same family for generations. However, family is not the only factor. I want to join the Ministry, but I will be working in a different department than my father. Most of us choose careers based upon our skills and abilities as well as on our personal inclinations. Our choice also depends upon how we do at Hogwarts and our examinations."

"Please explain," ordered Mr. McGonagall.

"At the end of seventh year, Hogwarts students take N.E.W.T.s, Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests," he paused at the skeptical expressions evoked by the name. He continued, "I don't know why they're called that. Minerva and I will be taking N.E.W.T.s in the subjects which we are currently studying. We will be tested and marked on our proficiency in each subject. Certain occupations require N.E.W.T.s in subjects relevant to that specific field. A career, Healing for instance, can require more or less N.E.W.T.s based upon the difficulty and responsibilities of that career. "

"What about Minerva?" piped up Nathaniel. "Could she be a Healer?" His father focused a glare on him and he sat back in his chair quickly.

"Minerva? She could probably choose almost any career she wanted, including Healing."

"You allow women to be doctors?" exclaimed Kenan.

"Yes," replied Edward. "Why not?"

"A woman has no business making life or death decisions. Women simply are not capable of behaving or thinking logically in such a situation. " declared Mr. McGonagall. His face was stern, disapproval obvious in the tightening of his features. "Are women permitted to participate in all occupations?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see," he stated solemnly. Edward caught his eyes flickering to his elder daughter. Minerva appeared absorbed in whatever her mother and sister were saying, but Edward knew she had heard every word. Her ramrod posture betrayed her pretense of obliviousness. Her father, on the other hand, either didn't notice or ignored it. Edward decided he didn't much care for Mr. McGonagall.

"Obviously, this is one difference between our worlds, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid I don't agree with these new ideas about women's rights and so forth. A woman's place is in the house, tending to her family, not in the workforce unless there is no other choice. Even then, she should choose a feminine occupation such as teaching or nursing. I wouldn't allow my wife to work, and I certainly have no intention of allowing my daughters to be exposed to that environment. Minerva, along with Fiona, was brought up to be a lady," declared McGonagall senior, "regardless of these powers of hers."

Edward now decided he actively disliked Minerva's father.

"Minerva is the brightest student at Hogwarts, Mr. McGonagall. She already has the different departments of the Ministry competing over her. She could do anything she wants after Hogwarts," he declared.

"My daughter will do what is expected of her as a member of this family which includes respecting my wishes for her future and conforming to the norms of our society." Edward gaped at him. He looked from Mr. McGonagall to Minerva and back. Minerva still kept her back to them, apparently ignoring the entire conversation. Yet, he saw that her hands were balled into fists.

"Edward, what do you think of our world?" Kenan asked quickly.

"It's very interesting," replied Edward, grateful for the topic change before he said something which would cause trouble for Minerva.

"My sister says that the Wizarding world split from our world when witches and wizards began to be persecuted in the Middle Ages," said Kenan.

"Yes. We isolated ourselves for our own protection."

"Dragons are not real, are they? Minerva told me they were, but I thought she must be joking," chimed in Nathaniel.

"No, they're real as well as a few other creatures that Muggles think are imaginary."

"Can you ride them?"

"Dragons?" Edward checked. At Nathaniel's nod, he said, "No. You would be incredibly thick to try."

"Boys. Enough." Mr. McGonagall halted their exchange. "I will be in my study and am not to be disturbed," he directed to the table at large.

When he had left, Mrs. McGonagall suggested, "Why don't we move to the sitting room and listen to the radio for a bit?" The others agreed. Fiona contrived to sit next to Edward, demanding to know if unicorns existed as well as dragons. Between Nathaniel and Fiona, the next hour or so of Edward's time was taken up further describing the magical world. Kenan paid attention to the news program on the radio while Mrs. McGonagall embroidered and Minerva unearthed a book from somewhere to read. He doubted her success as her hands gripped the pages rather hard and her glare threatened to incinerate the paper.

"I'm afraid I cannot keep my eyes open a moment longer," declared Mrs. McGonagall as she set aside the handkerchiefs on which she had been working. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mother," replied her children.

"Goodnight, Mrs. McGonagall," added Edward. Kenan rose, turned off the radio, and disappeared along with her. Minerva waited a moment before closing the book. At this, Edward stood up as well and she waited for him to join her at the door. They bid goodnight to her younger siblings and started for the stairs. Behind them, they heard the radio turn on, this time to a popular music station instead of the news.

"How can you stand it?" Edward asked after they had entered Minerva's room. "You wouldn't allow anyone at Hogwarts to talk about or to you like that?" She stared out the window; he plopped down on the bed.

"I don't have a choice. Until I'm of age, I have to bite my tongue and try to ignore it," she answered in a harsh voice. "In less than two months, we will return to Hogwarts and a month after that, I will be seventeen. My family's opinion will no longer matter. I would rather spend my last weeks with my family without causing major disputes."

"Is this how all Muggles think?" he demanded.

"Not all of them, Edward, but the majority does hold views similar to my father's."

"It's complete rubbish. If he said any of those things about women to my mother, she would turn him into a toad."

"Exactly."

"What?"

"Women don't have the same power as men in the Muggle world, Edward. Don't ask me how it happened, I don't know. It is only recently that we have been allowed to vote and we are barred from most professions and often discouraged from attaining a higher education. In general, women supposed to defer to a male authority. We are seen as the weaker sex, weaker in mind, body, and spirit, and therefore needing the protection and help of a man. Men are believed to be superior merely because they are male," Minerva snapped.

"Women are expected to mind the home – to have dinner on the table and take care of the children and be subservient to their husbands, fathers, brothers, even their sons. My father subscribes to this philosophy. Fiona and my mother are considered to be proper women because they don't act above their station. I, on the other hand, am a trial for him. I speak my mind, I refuse to obey blindly, and I am building a life for myself which is utterly out of his control."

"In the Wizarding world, a witch can be born with as much power as any wizard. I think that helps prevent the type of imbalance of power which has occurred in the Muggle world. As you said, your mother could curse anyone who suggested that she shouldn't work as an administrator for St. Mungo's purely because of her gender." Minerva declared, "Being a witch has given me opportunities I would have been denied in the Muggle world. Part of the reason I work hard is that I do not want to squander those opportunities."

"I'm glad you have other options because you're a witch, but it's still upsetting to me," said Edward.

"Let it go. You won't change their minds overnight. I hope that one day they will reconsider their beliefs, but I doubt it might happen anytime soon," Minerva told him. Edward shook his head, in both incredulity and reluctant acceptance. "Will you be taking the train home tomorrow or are you apparating? If you need to be driven to the station, I can ask Hughes to take you."

"No, I've decided I prefer traveling the wizarding way. I'll apparate back to London." He yawned, moved, and winced. "Does riding always hurt this much?"

"It does at the beginning or if you haven't ridden in a while."

"You didn't tell me that."

"You didn't ask. Besides, you enjoyed it."

"I did, but my bum still aches and I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"Goodnight, Edward."

"Goodnight," he murmured with a halfhearted wave. He exited, then popped his head back inside. "I almost forgot. Mother wanted to know if you would like to spend a couple of days with us at the end of the summer and catch the train from London. We can visit Diagon Alley too."

"Please tell her I accept with thanks," replied Minerva.

"Excellent." His head disappeared and the door shut again, leaving her to her sleep. The following morning, he departed with a wave and a grateful goodbye to her family for allowing him to stay with them. However, Minerva noticed his warmest smile was reserved for herself and her younger siblings, not appearing for her parents or Kenan.

* * *

Please review. It truly helps to keep me focused and writing when I know that other people appreciate the story.


	10. Chapter 10

Queen of Swords: Chapter 10

Fall 1934

Author's Note: I was delighted with the number of reviews I received on the previous chapter. Thank you very much for them and, as always, thank you to my beta, lullabymoon.

* * *

Minerva paused at the gateway. Standing alone, Edward and his parents having already gone through, she watched the people on the platform. Around her, Muggles hurried on their individual courses, intent upon reaching their destinations. For each group of people, Minerva imagined a story about them. A woman was greeted with a warm hug by her sister and niece. A businessman smiled and kissed his young wife on the cheek. University alumna clasped hands, already recalling old time and anticipating a renewal of friendship. Others were separating – a brother and sister, a father and his family, grandparents and their descendants, boarding or staying behind.

The whistle of steam pierced the air. A conductor cried, "All aboard!" and the doors slammed shut, heads poked out of windows, and handkerchiefs were waved in the air.

"Goodbye!" called the passengers.

"Goodbye!" called those on the platform. Minerva stood and watched until the train had vanished from sight. The clock tolled a quarter to eleven; it was time for her to pass through the gateway.

Leaning casually against the barrier, she whispered, "Goodbye" as Platform 9 ¾ supplanted the Muggle world. Amidst the general hubbub of the students and parents, she located the Potters.

"There you are," said Edward. "Come on. We need to grab a compartment before they're all taken."

"The Hogwarts Express always has enough compartments for everyone," she reminded Edward. "Thank you for taking care of my trunk, Mr. Potter." He had removed two miniature trunks from his robe pocket.

"You're very welcome, Minerva. It was no trouble at all," he replied, undoing the shrinking charm. "I'll just leave the lightening charm on them to make them easier to handle, shall I?"

"I would appreciate it, thank you," answered Minerva.

Offering her son a wrapped basket to take, Mrs. Potter said, "I've packed a few things for the train. And please remember that you would be welcome to join us over the holidays if you wish."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter." Steam began billowing from the scarlet engine.

"Well, I daresay you two should be going. It wouldn't look good if the Head Girl and the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain missed the train," proclaimed Mr. Potter. In a more serious tone, he added, "We're very proud of both of you. I'm sure you will continue to do well this year. I expect play-by-play accounts of all the matches and a picture of the team holding the Quidditch Cup, Edward. Minerva, the Headmaster couldn't have chosen a better Head Girl." She murmured another thank you, blushing a bit.

"Have a good year," voiced Mrs. Potter, embracing first her son and then Minerva. "Remember to write and tell us what you want to do for the holidays."

"We will. Goodbye, Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter," said Minerva.

"Goodbye, Mum. Goodbye, Dad," Edward said. The pair boarded the train, finding seats in a compartment with other seventh years rather than in the prefects' carriage. As the train accelerated, they waved and watched the platform and its occupants disappear. A couple of hours later, Minerva left the compartment and changed into robes, pinning her new badge to her chest. Embossed on the gold shield, the letters HG were surrounded by the symbols of the four houses. Upon her return to the compartment, she beckoned to Edward.

"We need to meet with the rest of the prefects and Head Boy."

"Sure." Transferring his cards to Basil, he stood and followed her to the lead carriage. The prefects gathered in one of the compartments, cramming five to bench and sitting on the floor. Several students were forced to stand in the doorway in order to hear and see. Abraxas Malfoy and Minerva backed the windows, his silver shield embellished with HB as the counterpart to her golden one.

"Good afternoon," he intoned. "Is everyone present?" he asked, directing his gaze to the seventh year prefects in turn. Each of them glanced about the room and nodded. "Then we can begin."

"We'll start with introductions, as we have new prefects who may not know everyone here. Please state your name, year, and house," instructed Minerva. "I'll go first. I'm Minerva McGonagall, your Head Girl for this coming year, from Gryffindor."

"Abraxas Malfoy of Slytherin. I have been appointed Head Boy." One by one, the prefects gave their identifications, sometimes being reminded to add house or year.

"Has everyone been introduced?" asked Minerva when the compartment had fallen silent. Various gestures and noises of affirmation confirmed that everyone had. "We'll move on to talking about your duties for the year and particularly for the first few days of term."

"As you are aware, prefects are responsible for escorting the first years to their respective common rooms after the feast," Malfoy said. "It is also expected that you help them transition to Hogwarts. This includes, but is by no means limited to, providing directions and escorts about the castle, assisting with homework, and educating them about the rules and traditions of Hogwarts and your individual house."

"To those students who are unaccustomed to the magical world, and even to many that are, Hogwarts can be intimidating and the adjustment can be difficult. I'm sure that all of you remember your first year. I hope you will try to make the adjustment as easy as possible for the incoming students," Minerva added. "Regarding rounds, Malfoy and I will be meeting with Professor Merrythought to set up the schedule within the next week or two. If you know that you will have potential conflicts, such as Quidditch practice or clubs, please notify us as soon as possible."

"We will hold a meeting either Monday or Tuesday evening after dinner to review all of the prefects' expected duties and privileges. This will include your authority over other students, including reprimands and docking points," declared Malfoy. "Are there any questions at this point?" Shakes of heads answered him.

Minerva said, "As an additional note, many of you participated in the tutoring last year in the evenings. I have received permission and sponsorship from Professor Merrythought to form an official club. I am asking for volunteers in all subject areas. A commitment of at least an hour a week is required. If you are interested, please speak with Edward or myself when you have an idea of what times you may be available. Now, if that's all?" she glanced at Malfoy.

"This meeting is concluded," he finished. "Thank you." While waiting for the compartment to empty so they could exit, Minerva enquired politely, "Did you have a pleasant summer?"

"Yes, we spent a month in the south of France at the chateau of a distant cousin. Did you have the opportunity to travel abroad?"

"I'm afraid my father's business obliged us to remain at home. One of his recent ventures was unexpectedly profitable, if necessitating a firm oversight. Yet, Scotland in summer has its own unique charms, although it might lack the glamour of France." They moved into the corridor.

"I suppose it might. We should arrange a time to meet each week to discuss any concerns or matters that arise."

"Agreed. Would Thursday evening be convenient?"

"It would. Eight o'clock in Professor Merrythought's office perhaps?" Minerva acceded to this proposal and Malfoy stepped into his compartment. She continued down the corridor, eventually reaching and entering her own compartment.

* * *

As Minerva had expected, the first term of the seventh year passed rather mundanely. She managed to balance her increased responsibilities and her workload, often utilizing lists and schedules to keep everything straight. Her teachers in wand-based classes, namely Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense, began to provide her with post-N.E.W.T. material to master. On her seventeenth birthday, she received gifts from her parents and friends. Mrs. Potter sent her an elegant locket, Mr. Potter a sturdy leather sleeve sheath, and Edward presented her with a red velvet lined case for her wand. Along with a few other students, she passed her Apparition test two weekends later.

In Quidditch, Slytherin had definitively replaced Ravenclaw as their chief opponent; Edward obsessed over sketches of plays and held rigorous practices. The first game between them ended in a narrow victory for Gryffindor. The tutoring club flourished with strong representation from all houses. Slughorn continued to invite her to his little parties; Minerva continued to refuse. She and Professor Rosier maintained their ritual Tuesday chess game although they often played on other days as well. By the middle of November, they had become evenly matched and Minerva won as many games as she lost. Altogether, Minerva was quite satisfied with the progression of the year.

Unfortunately, Professors Beery and Dumbledore conspired to make the last weeks of term much more difficult than Minerva had anticipated. Finishing a solo lesson on total human transfiguration, Dumbledore made a request, a request Minerva initially thought she had misheard or misunderstood.

"Excuse me, sir? I'm not sure I heard you correctly?"

"Professor Beery has been given permission to stage a pantomime before the term ends. He has recruited me as his assistant and I am recruiting you," her Head of House explained patiently. He smiled at her, a muted excitement evident in his features. It was the kind of smile that Sylvia Murray would have sighed over, having the slightest bit of a fancy for him despite the age difference as the sixth year had confessed over dinner two days previously. Minerva wondered if the smile might be the first sign of lunacy.

"A pantomime such as the Muggles put on?"

"That is the general idea, yes," he replied. "Professor Beery has chosen 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune.'"

"I see."

"Professor Beery mentioned the scheme to me at the start of term. The Headmaster authorized it a few days ago." No doubt the addition of Dumbledore had secured his consent as Minerva suspected Professor Dippet would not have given it to Professor Beery alone. While excellent in his discipline, the Herbologist tended to be rather disorganized, sometimes careless, in other undertakings. Accidentally releasing a pack of nifflers in her fourth year came to mind. They had ransacked the ground floor and kitchens before being caught. However, the misgivings of the Headmaster must have been assuaged by Dumbledore's involvement. Even Professor Dippet seemed to be a bit in awe of him.

"Professor, with all due respect, are you sure that this is a good idea?" queried Minerva.

"I realize it's unusual and new, but I'm sure it will be a treat for the entire school," answered Dumbledore, still smiling and confident. "It might require a fair amount of effort, but I believe that the students will enjoy the chance to perform and to watch. I also think that it would be beneficial to bring an example of a Muggle holiday tradition to Hogwarts."

"When Herbert asked me to pick a student to act as stage manager, I naturally thought of you. Who else could be trusted to ensure that everything runs smoothly and efficiently?" At this compliment, Minerva suddenly regretted having allowed him to see the neat schedules she had worked out for the prefect rounds or for the tutoring club. Clearly, he had stored his tidbit of information about her away for future use. He continued, "As Head Girl, both the Headmaster and I would like you to set an example and participate in some fashion. However, if you would prefer to be in the spotlight, I would understand of course."

"Professor, if I must participate, I would prefer to do so offstage," Minerva replied hastily, trying to keep her expression neutral despite the flash of alarm at the thought of performing.

"Then I can rely on your help?"

Minerva swallowed, pushing down a sense of foreboding, and answered, "Yes, Professor."

* * *

Three days later, that sense of foreboding resurfaced and she finally recollected the memory which had spawned it. This recollection occurred after Professor Beery's gentle rejection of a potential Amata, one of the lead roles, and the bout of tears that followed it. It was not the first breakdown she had witnessed that evening and, checking the line, was unlikely to be the last.

The memory in question involved the choir director of her church. For the majority of the year, he was a pleasant, kindhearted man who spent hours coaxing something approaching music from the throats of inattentive children. However, in the month of December, he would transform into a growling, snappish, short-tempered authoritarian. For years, she had been mystified by the change.

When her sister was nine, Minerva had discovered the reasons behind this alteration. Fiona had wheedled permission from their mother to take part in the annual Christmas pantomime at the church. Accompanying her to the rehearsals, Minerva had completely understood the choir master's disposition.

It had been utter chaos.

Between the sobbing, shouting, and bickering, her eardrums had ached. Children had run to and fro, across the makeshift platform, up and down the aisles, and had paid zero attention to the director. He had clutched pages of a script in his hands, gesturing and sometimes outright tugging cast members into position. Said cast members had rarely stayed where he placed them. A scuffle had broken out; the cows and the sheep arguing over who was the better animal. One of the angels had started wailing when a boy tripped in the tussle and ripped her dress. This had promptly caused the two littlest actresses to cry as well.

Minerva winced, jerked back into the present by a painfully high pitched "eee." Someone had decided to include _singing_ in his audition.

A pantomime. At a magic school. She held no illusions that an increased age would result in an increased maturity from the performers. And they had wands.

It was going to be a catastrophe.

* * *

Rehearsals commenced in the evenings and on the weekends. After much discussion and deliberation, Beery decided on Caroline Bingley, Peter Jacobson, Louisa Cooper, and Samantha Wakefield as the main characters. Caroline's pale coloring and slight figure lent her required frailty for Asha. Louisa, a pretty brunette, secured her role as Amata through her ability to infuse her words with emotion. In other words, she played the part of the brokenhearted exceptionally well. For the more serious Altheda, studious Samanatha Wakefield proved to be the best choice. Peter, a tall seventh year with patrician features, won the part of Sir Luckless. Besides Minerva, additional students were enlisted to provide backstage support. Veronica Marchbanks proved to be the most valuable addition – she called out cues and lines loudly enough to be heard over everything else.

"You, yes you, you're supposed to be offstage! Louisa, the line is 'Faint Heart! Draw your sword, Knight, and help us reach our goal!' Quit flirting with Peter and start acting!" Veronica would bark out.

Under the direction of Robert Small, Hufflepuff's sixth year prefect, a group of boys constructed the scenery in the Great Hall. Illusions alone could have been used, as Dumbledore remarked, but he thought it would be more realistic and _fun_ to build a physical set. The matron saw multiple injuries due to the incorrect usage of hammers and nails.

"Basil. Explain to me how you can hit a Bludger in midair at high speed and yet you can't hit a nail on the head when neither it nor you are moving?" demanded Minerva. He shrugged, holding his hand. "Go to the hospital wing."

Following close behind the builders, Opal Newton, a Ravenclaw fifth year, directed a cadre of decorators, wielding brushes and wands. A Slytherin sixth year was persuaded to take charge of the costuming after being credited as the most fashionable witch in the school. The cast had been expanded from the four requisite characters to include two narrators and around twenty people to comprise the crowd for the opening scene.

"Malfoy?" Minerva drew her counterpart aside after Transfiguration about a week before the date of the performance.

"McGonagall." He flicked his gaze over her, noticing the disorder of her bookbag which was gaping open as well as the slight smudges underneath her eyes and the ink stain on a sleeve of her robe. "Are you well? You appear rather flustered. Your involvement in Professor Beery's theatrical production seems to be quite fatiguing. I am glad I refused to participate if this is the result."

"My Head of House and the Headmaster requested me to help, Malfoy. I couldn't easily refuse. I wanted to speak to you about the holiday decorations for the Great Hall. Since I am currently occupied in these other holiday preparations, I trust that you can manage the task without me? It's not a complicated or difficult job. However, if you need my help…"

"No, I believe I can handle the responsibility without you, Minerva," he answered.

"Good." They descended the stairs for lunch in silence. As they split to reach their tables, she added quietly, "Thank you, Malfoy."

* * *

On December 20th, the whole school buzzed with anticipation. Professors Dumbledore and Beery shooed the students out of the Great Hall immediately after dinner. Scurrying about the set, the prop crew uncovered the scenery while Dumbledore initiated his illusions. A fountain sprang into life on the teachers' platform, a verdant lawn sloping up to it from the floor. The painted stone wall trundled into place surrounding the mound. Professor Kettleburn approached with a crate, consulting with Dumbledore before securing it underneath a fake tree. A shimmering rivulet formed to bar the path to the fountain. Finally, violet draperies extended from the ceiling which screened the entire stage from the rows of chairs that had replaced the house tables. On either side, in front of the curtains, a lectern held a hefty tome for the narrators' use.

Meanwhile, the chamber behind the platform had been partitioned into dressing areas. A long table stood next to the door, props assembled in neat rows by character and by the show's timeline.

"Has anyone seen my necklace?"

"I've lost my helmet!"

"Where is my bundle of herbs?" Queries shot through the air, students bumping into each other as they scrambled into costumes, hairdos, and makeup.

"Minerva?"

"Yes?"

"You'd better come quick," Opal beckoned for Minerva to follow her. "Peter and Louisa are arguing."

"What now?" demanded Minerva. The sight of Peter and Louisa bellowing at one another preempted Opal's response. Hands on hips, Louisa stomped her foot as Peter's eyes bulged and face reddened with the force of his shouts. Minerva couldn't understand exactly what they were saying although she rapidly caught the general gist of it.

"Enough!" she yelled, punctuating it with a bang from her wand. The pair rounded on her. Each blurted out accusations at high volume with murderous looks at the other. Minerva set off another bang. "Enough, I said!"

"But –" they began.

"No. Not a word. I don't care, do you understand?"

"She-"

"He-"

"What did I say? I do not care," Minerva stated brusquely. "I don't want to hear explanations. Whatever is wrong, settle it _after_ the show, do you understand? _After the show!_" She took a deep breath and pointed towards the girls dressing area. "Louisa, finish getting ready. Peter, go run through lines with Wendell."

"What happened?" she asked of Opal as the pair obeyed.

"The short version?"

"Yes, I don't have time for the long one."

"Peter kissed Caroline yesterday and Louise found out."

"Keep the three of them apart until the last moment," Minerva ordered. "I don't want this to escalate." She rubbed her temples in a vain attempt to alleviate the headache building in her head.

"I'll try," replied Opal.

"Minerva, could you come over here?" someone shouted. She swept off to the next crisis.

"What if I forget my lines?"

"Does this look right?"

"Where is Dione?"

"I'm missing my shoe!"

"I need the crowd members over here now!" cried out Veronica. "Twenty minutes until curtain call which means everyone needs to be QUIET! They're starting to let people into the Great Hall. " The cast froze. "Thank you. Professor Beery, Minerva."

The Herbology professor cleared his throat and said, "I would like to express my gratitude for all of your hard work and enthusiasm. This production would not have been possible without your dedication and, regardless of the performance, that I am very pleased with what we have accomplished. Good luck tonight. I know you will do splendidly." He bowed and left the chamber.

"Please take your places." Minerva directed. "The narrators will go onstage first, the members of the crowd second, and the four main characters last. If you forget a line, miss a cue, improvise as best you can. I would also like to remind all of you," she focused a glare on Peter, Louisa, and Caroline who had been muttering imprecations at each other," to concentrate on your part, not on anything else that might be distracting you." Minerva could hear the sounds of chairs being scrapped across the flagstones as the audience entered and sat down in the Great Hall. At her nod, Veronica eased the door open a chink.

After a few minutes, the younger witch murmured, "They're ready." Minerva tapped the narrators on the shoulders who immediately slipped out the door. Professor Beery greeted the audience while crowd members tiptoed onstage.

"Once upon a time, there was an enchanted garden filled with beautiful flowers, magnificent trees, and wondrous plants," Dione Edgecombe, her voice amplified by a _Sonorus _charm, started the narration.

"In the middle of this garden stood the Fountain of Fair Fortune. According to legend, whoever bathed in the fountain would receive the gift of fair fortune for the remainder of his or her life," Wendell Cameron continued the story. As the curtain rose, the two narrators alternated speaking.

"A high wall surrounded the garden, augmented by magical protections which prevented any intrusion. However, on the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, between sunrise and sunset, a single unfortunate would be permitted to enter the garden and face the challenges to earn the chance to bathe in the waters."

"On the appointed day, hundreds of people gathered around the walls. Young and old, men and women, with and without magic, rich and poor, they all hoped to be granted entrance to the garden. Among the supplicants, three witches met and shared their stories in the predawn hours."

"The first witch, Asha, was stricken – um… " Dione stopped. No Asha had appeared on the cue. Backstage, Minerva strode up to Caroline and Louisa who failed to notice her approach because of the hissed argument ensuing between them.

"Caroline, get out there, now," ordered Minerva, pulling her away from Louisa. "You missed your cue. Louisa, behind Samantha. Peter, quit hiding and stand right here until you hear your cue."

Upon seeing Asha, Dione restarted, "The first witch Asha was stricken by a malady which no Healer had been able to cure. She had come to the garden in the hope that the Fair Fountain would cure her illness and bestow upon her a long and happy life."

"The second witch, Altheda, had been robbed by an evil sorcerer who stole her gold, home, and wand. She hoped that the Fair Fountain would restore her prosperity and power."

"The third witch, Amata, had been betrayed by the man whom she had loved with her whole heart and thought to marry. She felt as if her heart could never be mended, but hoped that the Fair Fountain would banish her grief and longing. The three witches decided to work in concert to reach the Fair Fountain if they were given the chance."

A golden glow suffused the stage, a crack beginning to form in the wall. Vines sprang forth, winding around Asha who seized Altheda's wrist. Altheda grasped Amata's robes which managed to catch upon Sir Luckless' armor.

The wall split, sliding apart to allow the four characters entry into the garden while the crowd stayed on the outside. For a moment, the audience glimpsed the tiered foundation with its softly chiming cascades atop the rise of green lawn adorned with spring flowers.

"Boom!" Smoke erupted, Minerva instinctively ducking as bits of scenery flew through the air. Coughing, she strained to see through the dark cloud, pulling out her wand at the same time. An electric blue flash pierced the smog, immediately answered by a red one. Flames sprouted somewhere on the stage, the scent of burning wood reaching her nose.

"Veronica, get everyone out of here. Go behind the stage, _quickly_, and use the teachers' exit," she directed as she shoved the door fully open.

"But – what – "

"Densaugeo!"

"Furnunculus!"

"Don't argue. Move." While the backstage crew dashed to safety, Minerva bounded up the stairs and onto the stage. In the dissipating smoke, she saw Caroline jumping down from the stage, barely missing being hit by a jinx from Louisa. Scrambling to escape, the students clogged the narrow aisles, overturning seats and crashing into each other.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!"

"Don't push me!"

"Walk, do not run!" came from a professor, Minerva couldn't tell who. He was ignored.

"Get out of my way!"

"Hirtanaris!"

"Augamenti!" Water doused the fire on the stage, Professors Dumbledore and Kettleburn struggling against the tide to reach the platform.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Ten points from Ravenclaw! Put your wands away!"

"Punctus Apis!"

"Ouch! You hit me!

"Rictusempra!"

"Expelliarmus!" Minerva yelled. The wands of two duelists leapt from their owners' hands. They rounded on her as she lowered herself to the floor from the raised dais. Ignoring them, she aimed at another student preparing to cast and performed the same spell.

"Protego!" She blocked a ricocheting _Stupefy_ and disarmed the caster.

"Malfoy!" Spying the Head Boy, she used a _Sonorus_ to make herself heard above the din. "We need to clear a path! I can move the chairs if you shield me."

"What are you waiting for?" Malfoy shouted, pushing through to stand beside her.

To the nearby students, she called, "Follow after us!"With a combination of Banishing and Vanishing spells, she started clearing a path along the wall. Malfoy trailed her, a shield charm at the ready whenever curses flew their way. Foot by foot, they edged down the length of the Great Hall.

When she shoved aside the last row of chairs, Minerva pressed herself against the wall to allow the other students to pass by her and out of the Great Hall. She glanced at the stage, noting that most of the audience had now managed to flee, leaving only the professors and a few combatants.

"What was that?" Malfoy demanded.

"I don't know."

"I thought you were supposed to be in charge of this?"

"Beery was in charge, Malfoy; I merely kept the cast and crew organized." From anyone else, his response would have been called a snort of disbelief.

"What exploded?" he asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea. We should check to see if anyone is seriously injured." Malfoy nodded and headed for a huddle of third years. Working around the collapsed chairs, Minerva knelt beside a fifth year with a bruise forming around his right eye. Satisfied the eye was the worst of it, she moved on to the next downed student.

"McGonagall," she looked up to find Professor Weasley, "Madam Clarke is treating students in the Entrance Hall. If you can send or help anyone you find out?"

"Of course, Professor. What happened?"

Weasley sighed and explained, "Professor Kettleburn used an Engorgement Charm on an Ashwinder in order to provide the worm. It burst and its eggs caused the floor to catch on fire. As for Miss Bingley and Miss Cooper…I am not entirely sure what happened in their case."

"Louisa caught Caroline kissing Peter shortly before the show started."

"That would explain it." He scanned the chamber. "I think the situation is under control now, Miss McGonagall, which means that you should leave. Professor Dippet wants the Hall cleared."

"Yes, sir." She collected an injured student, slipping an arm about his waist, and supported him out of the Great Hall where Madam Clarke bustled up to them. Having examined them, she directed the injured boy to a hastily conjured cot. Minerva joined the cluster of crew members near the stairs.

"Is everyone going to be okay?" asked Veronica. She was hugging herself so hard Minerva though she might leave bruises on her elbows.

"I believe so. Are any of you hurt?"

"No, just...we're okay," she replied.

"What happened to Professor Beery?" inquired Minerva. The Herbologist was resting on one of the cots, his head swollen so much that she doubted his neck could support it unaided. Everyone shrugged.

"I think he was hit by a spell," one of them stated the obvious.

"That went very, very wrong," added Veronica. "It all went very, very wrong."

"Well, I don't think we'll be trying _that_ again anytime soon," interjected Edward, who had materialized next to Minerva. This elicited a couple weak grins. He asked, "Were you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look a bit – " He gestured to her head and to her robes.

"I said I'm fine," she insisted. However, as she said it, she became aware of the loose strands of hair brushing against the collar of her robes and her face. Her robes, she noticed, were torn in places, particularly along the hemline and sleeves where they must have caught on something. Straightening them as best she could, she snapped them to get rid of the dirt that had settled into the folds. She didn't bother trying to fix her hair; she seemed to be missing half her hairpins.

"Miss McGonagall," called Professor Dippet who had emerged from the Great Hall with Professors Tofty and Merrythought. Caroline and Louisa followed, cowed but still glaring daggers behind the teachers' backs.

"Yes, Professor?" she said, walking forward to meet him.

"Please meet me in my office in forty-five minutes. I would like to hear your version of events. In the meantime, I want you and the prefects to help Madam Clarke."

"Yes, sir."

"McGonagall," said Merrythought. She had halted while the Dippet started to ascend the stairs with Tofty and the two girls.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Well done. I saw what you and Malfoy did and Miss Marchbanks told me you had the sense to send them out the side door. I'm very proud of you for keeping your calm in that type of situation. It is precisely that sort of behavior which is needed for an Auror."

"Thank you, Professor." Obeying Dippet's instructions, Minerva gathered the prefects together to assist the injured students to the hospital wing. Malfoy remained downstairs to direct the lingering students to head for their dormitories.

After the meeting with Dippet, entailing an awkward conversation in which she tried not to question the common sense of the professors involved in the fiasco, Minerva trudged towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Password please."

"Mistletoe." As always, she shook her head at the choice of password. Upon entrance, she was immediately interrogated by her housemates. Stepping in front of the fire, she addressed the room at large.

"Caroline and Louisa have received several weeks of detention after the holidays. The Great Hall will be off limits tomorrow. Breakfast will be served in the common room. Fortunately, the worst injuries were a broken arm and a few mild concussions. They should be fine in time to catch the train home tomorrow. Madam Clarke simply wanted to keep them overnight for observation." Before they could pester her with more questions, she stated, "I'm not answering any more questions tonight. Goodnight."

Minerva picked her way to the girls' staircase. Wild theories and gossip reached her ears – one story had Caroline and Louisa accidentally burning off Kettleburn's goatee when he tried to separate them while another claimed Peter actually fancied Ellen Grove from Ravenclaw and was using Caroline and Louisa to make her jealous. She welcomed the quietness of the seventh years' room. No doubt her roommates would be downstairs for some time yet discussing the evening's disaster. Scrubbing herself free of the dust and soot and exchanging her robes for sleepwear, she climbed into bed. After pulling the curtains closed, Minerva slept.

* * *

Please review.

The pantomime story is taken from _The Tales of Beedle the Bard _which I highly recommend.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

December 1934-January 1935

Author's Note: I'm very, very, very sorry for being so late with this update. I really don't even have a half-decent excuse to give my readers. On the upside, between the draft I had intended to post and the actual posting, the chapter gained about 3K words.

As always, a thank you goes to lullabymoon for betaing and for keeping me going. And many thanks to my reviewers as well who are officially awesome.

* * *

"Thank you," Minerva said to the waitress. She wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into fingers chilled by the walk to Hogsmeade. Sitting across from her, Edward also thanked the woman for his cup of hot chocolate.

"You're welcome, is there anything else I can get you?" she asked.

"No, thank you," replied Edward. He stuck his finger into the reindeer shaped foam and then into his mouth. "Mmm, peppermint flavored." He took a large sip.

"You have a whipped cream mustache," she informed him, handing him a napkin. She tasted hers a bit more delicately and avoided his blunder.

"Why bother with a napkin? That would waste it." He proceeded to lick the foam off instead. "So what did you get me for Christmas?"

"I told you to stop asking me. You'll find out on Christmas morning which is only three days away. Surely, you can wait three days."

"Not even a hint? Please?"

"No." Edward shrugged and gave up on it.

"Honeydukes or Zonko's next?"

"Honeydukes. Nathaniel, Fiona, and my mother all loved the chocolates I bought for them last year. After that, you can go to Zonko's while I stop in at the bookshop," Minerva suggested. "We could meet at the post office."

"Okay, say about two?"

"Two would be fine."

"Have they managed to clean up the Great Hall yet? It still smelled of smoke when we walked past."

"The damage has been repaired. However, the smell seems to be a bit more difficult to eradicate. Professor Tofty said it's probably the result of a miscast spell although I'm not sure how that's possible," Minerva answered.

"How long do you think is Professor Kettleburn going to be on suspension this time? The Ashwinder was his fault."

"At least until the Easter holidays," replied Minerva. A glance outside, and she remarked, "It's started snowing again." She watched a snowflake as it drifted downwards, brushing against the window and melting.

"We should make snowmen," he declared, "when it stops. It never snows enough in London to do it properly, not before Christmas."

"We could. I'm sure the others would help. At home, Nathaniel prefers to make snow animals instead of people," said Minerva, "and, when she was little, Fiona used to love to make snow angels. Last year though she informed me that she was too old to do such childish things and that it wasn't very ladylike to roll around in the snow."

"Do you miss them?" he inquired gently.

"Yes, although I miss Nathaniel and Fiona more than I do my parents or Kenan. You are quite sure that your parents don't mind you staying at Hogwarts rather than going home?"

"Mum thought it was a capital idea. She wrote that Hogwarts is a wonderful place to be at Christmas, provided our friends were staying as well, and that we should make the most of our final year. Besides, it's not as if I won't be spending the holidays with them after I leave school. What did your parents say when you wrote them for permission?"

"Mother mentioned that I would miss the galas and other celebrations, but wished me a pleasant holiday. She did ask how she might ship packages and I sent her the information." After finishing their drinks, the pair went about their errands and returned to the castle.

* * *

"Up, up, almost, a bit more," called out Marian. "Rrriiight there. Hold it." Donald, standing on a chair, froze while she cast a Sticking Charm on the garland. Beth handled him white bows to attach to the garland which now stretched over the fireplace. Seated on the floor, Lucille sorted through ornaments. Minerva was playing chess with John Hamilton while Edward built a pyramid of Exploding Snap cards.

"I wish Cecilia, Walter, and Basil could have stayed. It would have been nice to spend one Christmas at Hogwarts together," remarked Lucille.

"Walter's and Basil's parents wanted them home and Cecilia didn't want to leave her mother alone for the holidays," said Beth. "With her father gone, Cecilia is her mother's only close family."

"What happened to her father?" asked John.

"He was killed in the Muggle war shortly after Cecilia was born," Beth told them. "He never made it home to see her."

"Poor Cecilia, and her mother," said Marian. "I knew her father was gone, but I didn't realize…"

"That's awful," commented Donald gravely, "To die without ever seeing your child and for Cecilia never to have known her father, not to have even memories of him."

"War seems so…so terrible that I can't understand why the Muggles continue to engage in it. They kill each other by the tens of thousands," declared Lucille. "Wizards may duel, but there hasn't been a true Wizarding war in Europe for, oh, two and fifty hundred years at least, if not more."

"I don't understand either, Lucille," broke in Edward, "but let's not dwell on the subject. It's Christmas Eve tomorrow."

"You're right," agreed Lucille. She stood up with a cluster of golden angels dangling by loops of strings from her hands. Seeing that Donald was finished with putting bows on the garland, she directed, "Donald, come hang these on the upper part of the tree. I can't reach that high so I'll do the bottom ones." She handed him half of the angels and they began slipping the loops onto branches.

"Where do you want this, Marian?" Beth asked, removing another garland from a box.

"Over the window, please."

"Edward, could you help me with it?"

"Sure," he said, abandoning the pyramid. Under the combined efforts of the seventh years, the Gryffindor common room was soon appropriately bedecked for the holidays. Garlands hung from the ceiling, vases of poinsettias adorned the tables, and a tinseled and ornamented tree stood in the corner.

"Where did you get the tree, Marian?" inquired Lucille. "And all these decorations?"

"Professor Dumbledore. He let me choose whatever I wanted from the leftovers from decorating the Great Hall and he helped me get everything all here," answered Marian. "I also thought it would be nice if we open our presents together on Christmas morning down here."

"Excellent idea," said Donald. The others agreed to the plan before trooping downstairs to enjoy the fresh snowfall.

* * *

"Minerva?"

Her eyes slid open to reveal Marian standing beside her bed, still in her pajamas with a terrycloth dressing belted over them.

"What is it?" Minerva asked, noting that the other two girls seemed to be awake as well. Lucille was running a brush through her tousled hair while Beth was gathering up a stack of presents.

"It's Christmas morning," stated Marian as if the fact explained everything.

Looking at the clock on her bedside, Minerva said, "It's not even seven yet." The slight chill of the chamber did not encourage her to make any move towards leaving the warmth of her bed.

"It's Christmas," Lucille called out, a number of bundles in her arms now too. "Time doesn't matter on Christmas morning, not when there are presents to be opened. We're taking our presents downstairs to open them with the boys. Come on, put on your robe and gather up your gifts."

Minerva sighed and flipped the covers back. With a satisfied smile, Marian returned to her own bed to pick up her presents.

"And why are you complaining?" she asked. "You're usually the first person up during the term."

"I have first period classes and I like to bathe, eat proper breakfast, and prepare for my classes," replied Minerva. Her feet found her slippers and her dressing gown remedied the chill. "I have to wake up early to have enough time for those things." She ran a hand over her braid and judged it neat not to be redone.

Two packages awaited her on her trunk at the foot of her bed. Minerva picked them up and the girls headed downstairs where the boys already camped out around the tree with their caches of presents.

Before long, the common room had accumulated piles of wrapping paper, both brown and vibrantly colored, and ribbon and string. In addition to the familial gifts, the students gave and received a variety of small items between themselves – candy, new inkwells in unique colors, charms for bracelets, sought after Chocolate Frog cards, inexpensive magical toys – nothing grand, yet still meaningful tokens. In a few cases, including between Edward and Minerva and between Donald and Marian, promises were made to exchange more significant gifts later, when not with the entire group.

John, upon realizing Minerva had only two spellbooks bound in dark leather beside her and no other presents from nonstudents, blurted out, "Where are the rest of your presents, Minerva?"

With the exception of Edward, the rest of the seventh years turned to her with looks of varying concern and pity. Minerva made to respond but Edward beat her to it.

"Don't be thick, John. Minerva's family is Scottish, I should hope you know that by now, and they traditionally wait until New Year's Day to exchange presents," he said.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot," replied John. "So who are those from then?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Potter, they thought I might find them useful references as an Auror," Minerva replied.

Unwrapping a rose hairclip from Beth, Lucille's exclamation attracted their attention. "It's beautiful." She sniffed and then raised the clip closer to her nose. "It even smells like a rose – I'll treasure it, Beth, thank you."

"You're welcome," said Beth.

Eventually, when all the packages and parcels had been opened, the group split to get ready for breakfast as a couple of the remaining younger students ambled down the stairs already dressed. Breakfast was a cheerful and leisurely affair with everyone greeting each other with 'Happy Christmas' and talking about whatever presents they had received.

"Anyone up for a game of Quidditch?" Edward called out as the plates were being emptied and not refilled. In short order, there were eleven students, including Edward himself, who wanted to play.

He then managed to coax Alexander MacDougal from Slytherin and Harriet Windsor from Ravenclaw to play, leaving them one person short of having two complete teams. Unable to cajole anyone else into joining them, Edward looked around the Great Hall, trying to think of a solution.

"I have an idea," he declared to the assembled group. He hopped up and went over to the staff table. Stopping in front of Dumbledore, who was sipping a cup of hot chocolate, he said, "Professor?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore set aside the hot chocolate and looked up curiously at Edward.

"I'm trying to organize a Quidditch game and, well, we need one more player so I thought that maybe you would join in?"

"Me?"

"Yes, sir. You always seem to enjoy watching Quidditch matches, even if Gryffindor isn't playing, and you're…er…you have more energy than…well – " Edward struggled to find the right words.

Professor Derwent, who was seated next to Dumbledore, leaned over a bit and said with a smile, "What the boy is attempting to say, Dumbledore, and is trying very hard to _not_ sound insulting to you or anyone else, is that you are the youngest, and most active, of the staff and would be able to make a good show of it whereas most of the rest of us are rather past our Quidditch days. Is that not it, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with an apologetic sort of grin and shrug of his shoulders.

"No offense taken, Mr. Potter," Derwent assured him, still smiling which deepened the laugh lines on her face nicely. She adjusted her spectacles and turned to Dumbledore. "Well, Albus?"

Dumbledore's eyes shifted from Edward to Derwent and back to Edward. To Edward's surprise, he appeared somewhat self-conscious, mouth forming the start of a sentence and then stopping before actually saying anything twice before he answered.

"I do thoroughly enjoy _watching_ Quidditch, Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid I'm…you see, I've never been very good at _playing_ it," he admitted.

"That's alright, Professor," said Edward quickly. "It's only a pick-up game and we'll mix up the teams to make sure they're about equal in skill. And I'm going to ask Professsor Tofty, since Madam Reid isn't here, to adjust the Snitch and Bludger spells for less advanced players. Tim Norton is going to play and he's only been on a broom during lessons and a couple of times after the Hufflepuff team practice. It's just going to be a bit of fun for everyone."

Dumbledore fiddled with his cup for a second before replying.

"I'm sure it will be, Mr. Potter, however…the truth of the matter is…the old saying of being as clumsy as a Muggleborn on a broomstick is quite true of me as well it seems. When I was a child, I did like flying, two or three feet off the ground, but once I had a real broom and was encouraged to fly a bit higher…I'm afraid I lost any desire to do so. I was never comfortable flying any higher than my head and never developed the knack of directing the broom. To this day, I would rather travel by other magical means or by my own two feet rather than use a broomstick," Dumbledore said.

He winced and continued, "The first and only time I attempted to play Quidditch ended with a broken leg on my part and a fractured wrist on the part of Clarence Bones who I somehow managed to run into on the way down. It was decided that, in the best interests of the safety of myself and others, I should probably avoid participating in the sport unless I could vastly improve my broom skills. As those skills have not markedly improved since then, I think it best that I decline your kind invitation, Mr. Potter."

"I understand, Professor," replied Edward. On the whole, he did not appear upset, yet a small furrowing on his forehead implied something was amiss.

"Nevertheless, I might have a solution to your problem," Dumbledore added.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you thought of asking Professor Weasley? He used to play for Hufflepuff, Keeper if I remember correctly, and I believe he would be delighted to join in on your game," suggested Dumbledore with a nod towards where the Muggle Studies Professor was sitting four seats away.

"Good idea. Thanks, Professor," said Edward. Despite this, the furrow remained and he remained focused on Dumbledore which perplexed the professor.

"When do you intend to have the game, Mr. Potter?" asked Derwent which drew Edward's attention onto her. "Directly after breakfast or will you wait until after lunch?"

"We were going to meet on the pitch around one thirty," he replied. "We should have enough time for a decent game before the sun starts to set."

"Then, I'll be sure to come and watch," Derwent said. "I'm expecting a Firecall from a dear, old friend this morning and I'm glad I will be able to see your impromptu match as well. Speaking of that Firecall, I should be returning to my fireplace so I won't miss it. Happy Christmas, Albus. Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter."

"Happy Christmas, Professor."

"Happy Christmas, Delwyn."

"I think I'll go ask Professor Weasley about playing now, sir," said Edward. He took a couple of steps in direction of Weasley, halted, and came back to stand before Dumbledore. A step forward brought him in contact with the tablecloth. Dumbledore cocked his head in inquiry, noting that the crease in his prefect's forehead had not disappeared as he had expected.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Professor, something you said earlier – " Edward hesitated.

"Go on," said Dumbledore. "I don't mind if you ask about my lack of Quidditch abilities. One can't be good at everything after all." He flashed a grin at the young wizard which, instead of alleviating the frown, deepened it. Dumbledore found himself confused and laced his fingers together as he watched his student.

Edward checked to see if Professor Tofty two seats down, who was the closest person, showed any sign of overhearing him. Although Tofty was engaged in a conversation with Merrythought and no one else seemed to be paying them any mind, Edward lowered his voice a bit more when he spoke.

"No, it's not about that, it's more about what you said," he told Dumbledore.

"What I said? I'm afraid I don't follow, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, what you said, how you said it – as clumsy as a Muggleborn on a broomstick?" Edward paused a moment; Dumbledore remained perplexed and did not respond.

Edward bit his lip, arms straight and stiff at his sides, and proceeded to state bluntly, "You've been to every Gryffindor Quidditch match and some of our practices and I'm sure you wouldn't call Minerva clumsy on a broomstick. Or clumsy in general."

Dumbledore froze. He had been expecting a question more along the lines of how such a powerful wizard couldn't properly control a broom enough to play Quidditch or if he was scared of heights. Edward's statement, and accompanying glare, was shocking and resounded in his ears. Dumbledore reviewed the memory of their conversation, skidding to a halt at the idiom in question.

Maintaining his glare and posture, Edward waited. He resisted the urge to look behind him at his friend or to say more to Dumbledore. He was reasonably confident his Head of House would understand his point without further help, or he rather hoped Dumbledore would.

A full two minutes passed before Dumbledore responded.

"No, you are absolutely right, Mr. Potter. I would never describe Miss McGonagall as clumsy, on a broomstick or otherwise," he said with a solemn tone and expression. "I did not realize – I never thought – yet that is part of the problem is it not? Not to think before you speak? – I never thought about the implications and the insult behind the phrase which nonetheless is not an excuse for using it. Thank you, Mr. Potter."

Edward started. "Professor?"

"For not ignoring it and for forcing me to recognize my mistake," said Dumbledore. "Most people would either find nothing wrong with the idiom or, if they were aware of its offensiveness, they would have let it pass as an insignificant remark not worth mentioning or causing a fuss. I'm glad you chose the more difficult route and confronted me about it."

"You're welcome, I think."

"It's quite astonishing how deeply imbedded prejudices are in our daily lives and thoughts, Mr. Potter. How they continue to express themselves even when we think they have been eliminated or forgotten. I admit I'm rather…disappointed with myself at the moment. I thought myself to be beyond those prejudices and yet…" Dumbledore shook his head in admonishment at himself. "They have a hold on me still."

Relaxing his stare, Edward said, "On me, too, Professor, although I do think I've gotten better during these past few years, mainly due to Minerva, not surprisingly. It's very hard to imagine Muggles as being somehow less than wizards, less intelligent, less capable, less civilized than us, when your best friend is Muggleborn and consistently proves herself to be better than those of us with Wizarding parentage in nearly every subject. And as for civilized, Minerva has much better manners than most of the school and many of the pureblood adults I know. "

He stopped and then said quickly, "I didn't mean you, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded. "I did not assume you did."

"She was the person who made me realize how insulting that idiom was to Muggleborns – and to Muggles as well."

"When did that happen?" asked Dumbledore.

"In November of our first year," Edward answered. "I had been rather clumsy the entire day, getting jam on my robes, knocking a vial off the counter in Potions, and tripping while going _up_ the stairs. We were working on homework in the library and I managed to smear a Herbology diagram, which I had spent half an hour drawing, and I grumbled that I was 'as clumsy as a Muggleborn on a broomstick'. I didn't realize I had done anything wrong, until she started rolling up her work and packing her things into her bookbag. I asked her why she was mad and she told me I needed to consider what I said more carefully if I didn't want to offend her. When I couldn't work out what was offensive, she left."

"Did she eventually tell you what she meant or did you figure it out yourself?"

"Well, I tried apologizing first, but she wouldn't accept it until I understood why I was apologizing so I had to figure it out by myself. Until I did, she avoided spending time with me, although she was polite and civil whenever we were together, at meals and in class or running into each other in the halls or the Tower. I had the feeling Minerva was trying to decide if she wanted to continue to be friends."

"How long until you realized why she had been hurt?"

"About three days. I apologized again, including the reason for the apology, and she accepted it. I can't say I've never made a similar mistake since then, but I usually catch it or Minerva will and make it clear to me through one of her looks or by reminding me of the broomstick incident as we call it."

"I think I know the 'look' to which you're referring," mused Dumbledore. "I remember it from my first day of teaching when I deducted five points from her for helping Miss Fleming."

"That was probably it, sir. I should," he gestured at Professor Weasley who had just drained his tea and was standing to leave, "speak to him about the Quidditch game before he leaves."

"Of course. You've given me something to think about and I believe I shall go do just that. However, I will be in attendance at the Quidditch match later. Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter."

"Happy Christmas, Professor."

Intercepting Professor Weasley, Edward made his appeal. With a clap on the shoulder and a beaming smile, Weasley accepted and the pair returned to the rest of the players to discuss the division into teams. Dumbledore watched as they negotiated with the assiduous deliberations of diplomats sketching international borders and the lively enthusiasm of Chocolate Frog collectors at a swap meeting. As the organizer and only Captain present, Potter had the greatest influence on the discussion, but McGonagall's input, rare and rather subdued compared to the others, resulted in nods of agreement whenever she gave it.

Once the teams were settled, the group headed out of the Great Hall, the students to their dormitories to enjoy their Christmas gifts or nap and Weasley to his quarters to do one of the same. Dumbledore wandered the corridors, thinking and reflecting, for a while before he sought out Dippet for some conversation.

* * *

"Aren't you at least curious?" demanded Lucille, nodding towards Professor McKinnon. The New Year's Eve feast had been finished, but the assembled professors and students lingered over cups of eggnog and hot chocolate. The house tables had been replaced with half a dozen smaller round ones to accommodate the thirty or so people remaining at Hogwarts over the holidays, the seventh years occupying a table by themselves. Clumped around Professor McKinnon's table, a number of curious students watched her lay out cards for a wide-eyed young Hufflepuff.

"No, I'm not," replied Minerva.

"Well, I'm going to ask her to read for me," Lucille declared. "Anyone else interested?"

"I'll do it," said Edward. Donald and John said they would do it as well.

"Me too," Marian said. "What about you Beth? Do you want to know your future?"

"Does Divination really work?" Beth asked.

"No," answered Minerva at the same time Lucille said, "Yes." Beth looked from one to the other in confusion.

"It works, Beth. Why would they teach it unless it did?" proclaimed Lucille. "Do you remember when my little brother lost his favorite teddy? I asked Professor McKinnon about it and she knew exactly where to find it."

"That was coincidence," stated Minerva. "Divination is unreliable, Beth. Most, if not all of it, is pure guesswork and conjecture."

"Then why don't you have your fortune told? For fun? And to prove that you're right when the predications fail to come true," suggested Lucille. She glanced over at Professor McKinnon. "Even Professor Dumbledore is having his told."

"Please, Minerva, do this with us?" Beth said softly. Something in her voice, the gentle plead in sweet tones, reminded Minerva of her sister. Beth sounded almost identical to Fiona when she had implored her older sister to have their palms read at a summer carnival. Fiona, nine years old at the time, had been too nervous to do it alone, but had been elated after the medium had informed her she would find her true love early in life.

"Very well," she agreed. When McKinnon's table was vacated, the seventh years approached as a group.

"Good evening, Professor," said Lucille.

"Good evening, Miss Abbott," replied the professor. Curly reddish hair, streaked with gray, framed an inquisitive face and she was dressed in a cream robe embroidered with multicolored swirls.

"Professor, I'm not sure you've ever been introduced to all my friends," said Lucille.

"Not formally, but I recognize Miss McGonagall and Mr. Potter of course. And these two must be Miss Greengrass and Miss Russell whom you have mentioned to me," guessed McKinnon, nodding at each girl in turn. "However, I'm afraid I don't know these two gentlemen."

"Donald Maxwell, ma'am."

"I'm John Hamilton, Professor."

"Are you interested in having your cards read?" she asked the group. They all answered in affirmatives. "Well then, who would like to go first?"

"I will," cried out Edward and Marian at the same time.

"Ladies first," conceded Edward, bowing and withdrawing the chair for Marian who smiled at him in thanks.

"Do you have any specific question in mind?" asked McKinnon as she handed the deck to Marian.

"No, nothing in particular. Although, I suppose I'm curious about the coming year as we're all leaving Hogwarts and heading off to do different things."

"While you shuffle the cards, think of that, and the reading should reflect those thoughts," instructed McKinnon. The cards whooshed in Marian's hands for a few moments before she returned them to McKinnon. Fanning them out, the professor waved her hand over the cards. Five soared into the air briefly before landing on the table. If they had been joined by lines, they would have been the points of a five pointed star.

McKinnon touched each card: Ten of Cups, the Sun, Seven of Pentacles, Eight of Pentacles, and the Fool. She tilted her thought, contemplating before speaking.

"The next year promises to be a fruitful one, provided you apply yourself. Hard work will put you in good stead when you find employment. Are you hoping to work in a greenhouse, perhaps? The pentacle arrangement suggests a connection to the earth."

"Yes, I've always enjoyed gardening," answered Marian, rather surprised but pleased.

"You should do well, I expect."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Mr. Potter, you were next I believe?"

"Yes, Professor." She restacked the cards and gave them to him. After Edward shuffled, she caused three cards to form his spread, a triangle.

"Simple, yet powerful cards, Mr. Potter," remarked McKinnon. "The King of Pentacles and the King of Cups are your foundation." She fingered the two cards at the bottom corners of the triangle.

"They represent your essential qualities – kindness, trustworthiness, loyalty, steadfastness, and a devotion to family, home, and friends as well as an open heart and ready smile. Very good qualities indeed. They will ground you and form the basis for future success so take care to nurture them. As befitting your current situation, the Ace of Wands indicates a new beginning filled with energy and possibilities, likely referring more specifically to the start of your career after Hogwarts," she explained the cards. She gathered the cards up and held them out to the other students.

"Thank you, Professor," said Edward standing up as Lucille took the cards.

"I have a specific question, Professor," Lucille admitted, sitting down in Edward's now vacated chair. "I've been offered the chance to travel with my great-aunt to the Americas for a year. Should I go?"

"We shall see what the cards say," replied the Divination professor. "As you know Miss Abbott, you should concentrate on one choice, perhaps deciding to go, while you shuffle the cards. Reading the aspects of one outcome is often easier than attempting to read both, or so I've found."

"Yes, Professor." After shuffling, McKinnon fanned the cards out as before but had Lucille withdraw five cards herself, placing them in a cross pattern and turned down. One by one, the professor flipped them face up.

"A Two of Swords in the center, representing your indecision. A Ten of Wands in the left position, past influences – what is holding you back Miss Abbott?" queried McKinnon.

"I'm worried that I should start working or enter an apprenticeship immediately instead of spending a year traveling. My mother is also pregnant and I'm sure she would like to have me around to help, especially during the first year," Lucille told her.

"Yes, and the Eight of Cups in the bottom position expresses your desire for a fresh start, to explore new places and try new things," said McKinnon. "The Knight of Wands in the future position to the right signifies the exciting journey that you have been offered. He is eager to be gone."

"And finally, at the top, the potential contained in the choice – the Wheel of Fortune, a token of good luck and progression in your life. I would say that you could benefit greatly from this opportunity, that it would be a positive experience for you if you chose to take it." McKinnon smiled a bit and concluded, "However, you are aware that the cards are only a signpost, not a guide, Miss Abbott. Your decision should not be based solely on what you see here, but rather also on your own good sense and judgment."

"I remember, Professor, but this helps me to see everything a bit clearer."

"Then it has been a useful reading. I wish you luck, whichever route you choose. Now, may I ask who is next?"

"Minerva is," called out Lucille quickly, as if afraid her friend would renege on her agreement. Minerva nodded, taking the seat Lucille vacated. McKinnon presented the cards to her which she shuffled and returned them to the professor.

"Do you have a question, Miss McGonagall?"

"No, Professor."

McKinnon seemed to weigh the cards in her hand before handing them back to Minerva. "Once more, Miss McGonagall, I think the cards need to acquaint themselves with you a bit better before I read them."

Once Minerva had reshuffled, McKinnon directed, "If you could please fan them out...thank you…and, yes, wave your wand hand over them please." Seven cards slipped from the fan, hovering for an instant, and then arranging themselves on the table, face down.

"You have an unusual spread, Miss McGonagall, very unusual. A cross or a sword – four cards to form the hilt and pommel with three cards as the blade. Upright from my perspective, hilt towards you, ready to be grasped." Her fingers brushed the center card, turning it over gently. "As I suspected, a royal card of Swords, the Queen. Do you know what the Swords represent in the Tarot?"

"No, Professor."

"Air is the dominion of the Swords and therefore they are concerned with matters of the mind and thought. A person under the auspices of the Swords tends to be intelligent, perceptive, analytical, and decisive, sharp as the edge on the blade. However, one must be careful not cut oneself on the blade, to become overconfident in your abilities and your judgment, becoming stubborn and narrow-minded without empathy for others."

"The Queen is a wise counselor, a scholar, an organizer, a ruler who leads with logic and reason. Her character is impeccable and unshakeable yet her life has not been an easy one. Struggle and conflict have left their mark on her. She tends to be aloof, at times almost cold. The Swords are not the kindest suit, Miss McGonagall. They are the harbingers of challenges and obstacles, of conflict and trials to be endured," explained McKinnon, her green eyes intense as they fixed on Minerva.

"Now, let's see what the other cards hold…to my left, the Queen's right...the Moon: a card of mysteries and the hidden, a card of magic and dreams which taps into the most ancient powers, often those that are unpredictable and dangerous. It often signals a massive change, one which is unexpected, or the burgeoning of latent abilities. The card on top…the Wheel of Fortune although," she paused, "I don't believe it represents luck in your case Miss McGonagall, but rather the progression of life, even the advancement of destiny. And on the Queen's left – Death."

"Death?" repeated Edward, leaning in close. "That's bad." He looked a bit concernedly at his friend. Minerva was unruffled and waited for the explanation.

"The Death card is frequently misunderstood, Mr. Potter. It is not an inherently bad card, nor does it usually represent physical death," McKinnon replied, tapping the card. Her face fell suddenly, her breath catching as she stared at Minerva; she recovered her composure and tried to smile reassuringly. "The Death card signifies transformation, a transition between two phases of life that is often accompanied by renewal and regeneration. The old will be left behind to make room for the new. It could also well be connected with Miss McGonagall's affinity for Transfiguration." She moved onto the next card hurriedly.

"Now, the first card of the blade, directly underneath the Queen – Strength. However, this card does not speak to physical strength, but rather that which comes from within, our inner strength. It embodies courage, determination, and conviction. The strength of will allows us to control our more destructive impulses and emotions and, beyond that, to hold true to our principles and act on them."

"The second card of the blade is the Hierophant which is interesting," she remarked. She fell silent for a minute, obviously thinking and casting a glance at Dumbledore.

"Professor?" prompted Minerva.

McKinnon continued, "For you, I believe this card represents order based upon a set of guiding principles. It reflects the connection of people through commonly held beliefs. The Hierophant helps put the higher ideals into practice, often acting as a teacher or mentor in the process."

"The last card, the point of the sword…is the Chariot," said McKinnon as she turned it over. "It symbolizes a hard-won victory over adversary, accomplished through unwavering determination and perseverance. If you falter, even for an instant, victory could slip from your grasp." The Divination professor traced a line across the hilt of the sword, then down the blade.

"With the exception of the Queen of Swords, all of your cards are of the Major Arcana," she stated. "These cards…they do not speak about everyday life, Miss McGonagall. They are not concerned with trivialities, but rather with what one might call fate or destiny."

"With all due respect, Professor, I don't believe in either of those concepts," said Minerva. "I don't believe that my future, or the future in general, is predetermined."

"Yes, you're quite right about that. The future can always be altered depending on what happens in the present. However, sometimes, a certain course of events is highly probable based upon what has already occurred; the cards anticipate the future arising from the past and present, drawing from sources to which we are not privy. These cards tell me _your _future is important and not merely to you," McKinnon informed her.

"Thank you for the reading, Professor," Minerva said, curtailing any further discussion. "John? I think you were to go after me?" She rose to give him her place.

"What do you think?" muttered Edward to her over the fluttering sound of the cards being shuffled by John. "About what she said?"

"I still believe that Divination is unreliable and as for the reading, they're just cards, Edward, nothing more," Minerva replied quietly with a shake of her head. When McKinnon finished the readings for the rest of the group, they left for the common room.

* * *

The following morning, McKinnon seated herself next to Rosier at breakfast. The house tables had been restored and the seventh year Gryffindors sat together at the end of their table, nearest the staff platform. McKinnon watched them for a while before turning to Rosier. The Slytherin arched an eyebrow in a silent question. McKinnon inclined her head towards the Head Girl.

"I understand now why you've taken an interest in her," declared McKinnon. "I had been wondering why the Head of Slytherin House would invest a great deal of much time and personal attention in a Gryffindor, and Muggleborn no less."

"I saw her potential and encouraged it."

"Her potential? Yes…I suppose you could call it that. Artemisia, she needs to be careful."

"May I enquire as to why?"

"The reading I did for her yesterday…it included the Death card along with several other indicators of conflict. When I touched the Death card, I understood that it held true, physical death as part of its meaning, death that was inevitably in her future."

"Did you tell her this?"

"No. She doesn't believe in Divination. I had to have her shuffle the cards twice to establish a connection strong enough to do a reading. She would not listen if I had warned her."

"Then why do you mention it to me, Pandora? I'm afraid I share my student's skepticism about fortunetelling, albeit to a slightly lesser degree."

"I'm aware of that fact. However, you have more experience and won't be as quick to dismiss my warning as she would have been. I don't want her to come to harm and I trust that you'll do what you can to prevent it."

"I will. Thank you, Pandora."

"There is one other point of interest about her reading," added McKinnon after a minute of silent observation of the subject of their conversation.

"Yes?"

"I saw some of her cards in another reading earlier yesterday evening. The Hierophant, the Chariot, and Death were included in the spread I laid out for Albus as was the Queen of Swords."

"The Queen of Swords?"

"Miss McGonagall's spread was in the shape of a sword and the Queen was clearly meant to be directly identified with her."

"Perhaps it is simply a coincidence," Rosier suggested.

"I suppose that depends on if you believe in coincidences," McKinnon said. Rosier made no reply, but instead reached for the scrambled eggs.

* * *

Please review (maybe it will convince my muse to come back from the Bahamas - she decided it was time for a proper vacation and took off without me).


	12. Chapter 12

Queen of Swords: Chapter 12

Author's Note: I'm late again (*hides in closet*). Sorry. At least I have the legitimate excuse of being without an internet connection for several days.

Hogwarts Spring 1935

* * *

"Have you continued to remain appraised of the situation in Germany?" enquired Rosier of her protégé. They were seated in Rosier's quarters, cups of tea in their hands, after a game of chess which Minerva had won, albeit narrowly with only her queen, two pawns, and a castle remaining.

"Yes, I have. My younger brother, Nathaniel, indulges my curiosity and sends me clippings of the major articles from the newspapers every couple of weeks, when he remembers that is. In fact…" she paused, setting her tea on the coffee table and reaching for her satchel. "They're in my bag, along with a number of older ones dating from the past several months. I wanted to reread all of them in light of the most recent news. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find the time."

Minerva extracted a file folder from her satchel and opened it on her lap carefully to prevent losing any of the articles.

"May I?" asked Rosier, leaning forward. "Delivery of _The Times_ to Hogwarts is rather unreliable."

"Of course," Minerva replied. She laid the articles out chronologically on the table, placing them so that she and Rosier could both read them. The oldest ones dated from the previous summer while the most recent one was from the previous Monday, the 18th of March.

"What do you think about this newest violation of the Versailles Treaty?" Rosier queried. "Do you believe, as the Fuhrer claims, that the army will merely ensure the safety of Germany and that the nation remains committed to peace?"

"No, I don't."

"May I ask why?"

"Germany claims to need protection from other nations. Yet, none of the major powers, including ourselves and France, want another war. We haven't recovered from the Great War and we are in the middle of a depression. It would be pure foolishness to start a war now unless Germany attacked first," Minerva explained.

"Precisely."

"Germany is becoming more aggressive, I think," said Minerva. "These high German officials keep mentioning the strength of their nation and of their conviction of being destined for greatness."

"What did you make of this article, referring to the purge of officials within the German government?" Rosier indicated one piece dating from the previous July.

"I think that it was an elimination of enemies or potential challengers to Hitler's authority. He became Fuhrer a little over a month later which made him the ultimate power in the government. And in January," Minerva picked up another article, "Germany regained the Saar. There are also numerous reports and indications of rearmament with emphasis on a great desire for more power in the air and on the sea. Furthermore, I've noticed the intensifying persecution of the Jews. And now, Germany has violated the treaty yet again and I doubt that there will be any significant reprimand which causes the League and the individual nations to appear weak and intimidated. The general public is terrified of another war and I think will not press Germany because of that."

"I'm glad you have kept yourself informed, Miss McGonagall. I share your concerns about the potential threat posed by Germany." Rosier fell silent, her eyes fixed on the chess board where her white king lay topped. Minerva waited quietly for Rosier to continue, rereading the headlines of the articles and recalling their contents. Finally, the Slytherin took a deep breath and straightened in her chair. Minerva looked up to find herself caught in the professor's penetrating stare.

"I debated whether or not you should be told."

"Told about what, Professor?"

"About what some members of the Ministry, and a few select others, believe is happening in Germany. It regards the magical community and government of that nation and is connected to the events in Muggle Germany."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Professor."

"You will. There are those who would argue that I should withhold this information, that you are still too young and inexperienced to be privy to such information. However, I believe that you are quite capable of comprehending the gravity of the situation and acting accordingly. Moreover, you are applying for the Aurors and deserve to know all of the risks."

Rosier continued, her tone deadly serious, "You are not to repeat anything of what I say to anyone, Miss McGonagall. Not to your friends, your family, not even to another professor. Do I have your sworn word?"

"Yes, Professor," replied Minerva softly. With a curt nod, Rosier accepted the pledge.

"Do you know much about the German Ministry of Magic?"

"No, I don't. There's very little information or reporting on foreign Ministries beyond the slim number of issues which may affect us. _The Daily Prophet _mostly focuses on domestic issues. "

"That is unfortunately true," Rosier declared. She took a breath before continuing, "In the past few years, a man named Gellert Grindelwald has risen to power within the German Ministry. He has very decided views, ones which share in the hatred and aggression of those of his Muggle counterpart, although the target population differs. Hitler has fixated on Jews while Grindelwald's hatred is directed towards any Muggle influence in the Wizarding world, which includes Muggleborns and anyone or any government that refuses to endorse the doctrine of the superiority of wizards over Muggles. It could escalate into outright war if certain threats become reality. You would almost certainly be involved as an Auror, perhaps even more likely to be so than most because of your abilities."

"Could you explain a bit more, Professor?"

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid. Those aware of the situation in the Ministry have ordered it to be kept quiet. They claim that they don't want to raise unwarranted suspicion or alarm. Some even believe that Grindelwald will be contented with Germany and leave the rest of the world alone."

A pause and then Minerva said, "I understand, Professor. Thank you for telling me what you could, but that doesn't change my decision to apply to the Aurors."

"I didn't believe it would, but I would encourage you to learn whatever you can about this matter. I would also expect you to learn all you can while in training to be an Aurors."

"I'll try, Professor. Thank you."

"Do you have time for one last cup of tea before your rounds?" Rosier asked, her face losing the intensity which had marked it during their conversation. Her features relaxed and she gestured at the teapot on the sideboard.

"Yes, I do." The remainder of their time was spent discussing the employment of runes in spell construction. Minerva knew better than to question her professor further regarding the Germany; the matter was obviously closed for the moment.

* * *

Minerva brushed the soot from her robes, running a hand over her hair to check for straying strands that could have escaped during transit. Edward performed the same motions when he arrived a few seconds later. They walked forward together, shoes clicking on the marble floor. Above their heads, gold symbols drifted across the peacock blue ceiling while the Fountain of Magical Brethren gurgled softly.

With a glance at his watch, Edward said, "We have twenty minutes before our interviews. How do I look?"

"You look fine."

"Good. We spent far too long in the shop choosing them." Their school robes had been set aside in favor of work appropriate attire. Edward's robes were navy while Minerva had selected a forest green one with white piping along the collar and cuffs. Both of their robes had been purchased under the supervision of Mrs. Potter during a trip to Diagon Alley before school. Mrs. Potter had claimed that, although she trusted Minerva, her son was an entirely different matter when it came to clothes shopping. He was more than likely to grab the first set of robes that fit and dash out the door, regardless if those robes happened to be zebra striped.

They approached the golden gates, had their wands inspected, and entered a waiting lift. Being the middle of the workday morning, they had it to themselves. Edward jabbed at the buttons for levels four and two. The lift clanked into life and started to rise.

"Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures including Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Board," chimed the feminine announcer.

"Wish me luck," Edward said. He gulped, reaching up to tug at the collar of his robes.

"Good luck," she said.

"Good luck to you too." He stepped off and she continued alone until the second level.

"Level Two, Department of Magic Law Enforcement including Wizengamot Administration Services, Magical Law Enforcement Squad, and Auror Headquarters." Minerva walked forward, passing doors inset with frosted glass sporadically placed on either side of the hallway. A few were cracked open, chatter and the sounds of people working coming from within. A pair of wizards exited from one office, examining a sheaf of parchments. They exchanged polite nods with her. She reached the end of the corridor which terminated in a door marked with 'Auror Headquarters.' It too was propped open a bit.

Minerva paused for a breath and went inside. A double row of sturdy desks, sometimes with a file cabinet standing next to them or a bookcase on one side, marched down the center of the wide room. Private offices lined the walls, half revealed through the frosted glass patterned with animated griffins and dragons. Some of the desks were occupied with Aurors, either singly or in groups working together.

"Can I help you, miss?" asked a mustached wizard, lean and taller by a couple inches than her.

"Yes, thank you. I have an appointment with Mr. Fitzwater at ten o'clock," she replied.

"This way. Hogwarts student, I presume? I heard we were considering a couple of candidates this year. "

"Yes, sir. Minerva McGonagall," she offered as he guided her to an office.

"Franklin Palmer, at your service." They shook hands before he rapped on the door.

"Come in," called a voice from inside.

"Good luck, Miss McGonagall. I hope to see you here again in a couple of months." Palmer said with a reassuring smile and strode off towards his desk.

"Mr. Fitzwater?" said Minerva, entering the office.

"Miss McGonagall, you're early. I like that. Alexander Fitzwater, Head of the Auror Department, please have a seat," he declared. He rose to shake her hand over his desk. Minerva's grip equaled his, firm without being overly forceful or tight. He waved her into a chair. Sturdy glasses sat atop a nose with a slight kink, obviously broken at some point in the past. His gray and thinning hair was neatly trimmed and combed while his robes still held sharp creases from careful ironing. If she had met him anywhere else, Minerva would have suspected him to be a barrister rather than a member of a police force.

"Thank you, sir."

"May I offer you something to drink Miss McGonagall? Perhaps a cup of tea or water?"

"No, thank you."

"Very well. We can start the formal interview then." He opened a folder, containing several sheets of parchment, and inked a quill. "I want you to answer honestly and thoughtfully. If you need to take a moment to consider a question, please do so. To begin, I merely need to verify your information. Could you state your full name, please?"

"Minerva McGonagall."

"From your records, I see that you are Muggleborn? You live in Huntly, Scotland and your birthday is the 4th of October, 1917?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have never been convicted of any crime, minor or major, in either the Muggle or Wizarding world?"

"Of course not, sir."

"What were your O.W.L. marks and what do you expect from your N.E.W.T.s?"

"I received Outstandings in ten subjects: Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, History, Herbology, and Astronomy. I continued with seven of those courses: Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures. My current marks are generally Outstandings with one possible Exceeds Expectations."

"What are your strengths and weaknesses academically?" he asked.

"The wand focused classes tend to be my strengths while Potions is my weakest subject of those I have continued into the N.E.W.T level."

"Would Potions be the one in which you may receive an Exceeds Expectations?"

"Yes, sir."

"I understand that you have been studying beyond the N.E.W.T. level in several of your classes? Which classes would those be?"

"Primarily Transfiguration, Defense, and Charms, sir, although I have been given supplementary material to the Ancient Runes and Arithmancy syllabi."

Making a notation on the parchment, he said, "I have requested and received statements from Professors Merryweather and Dumbledore attesting to your high aptitude in those areas as well as to your general character. Is there another professor with whom I should speak?"

"Professor Rosier and Professor Forsythe have been mentors to me during my time at Hogwarts. They may know me somewhat better, on a personal level, than Professors Dumbledore or Merrythought," Minerva replied.

"Why do you consider Professors Rosier and Forsythe mentors?"

"Professor Forsythe was the first wizard I met. After I received my Hogwarts letter, he visited my house and explained everything to my family and to me. He convinced my father to allow me to attend Hogwarts. When I arrived at school, he made a point of talking to me, ensuring I was not having trouble with the transition from the Muggle world to the Wizarding one. He also modified my lessons to challenge me when I started mastering concepts and spells before the rest of the class."

"And Professor Rosier?"

"She taught me to play chess," Minerva stated.

"Are you a good player?"

"I win at least as many games as I lose against Professor Rosier."

"What about against different opponents?"

"I've only played against other students and Mr. Potter," replied Minerva. "I usually win those games."

"By Potter, I assume you mean Bedivere Potter who works in Wizengamot Administration?"

"Yes, sir. His son and I are friends. I've spent some time with his family."

"I see," said Fitzwater. "Your application indicates that you have leadership positions at Hogwarts. Could you tell me a bit about those?"

"I was chosen as prefect in fifth year and am now Head Girl. I help organize and oversee the prefects as well as making rounds at night and assisting the professors as needed. I have a limited authority to reprimand any misbehaving student, but I can recommend a punishment and it is usually accepted. Mr. Edward Potter and I began a tutoring club last year which has been formalized and meets almost every evening. We have recruited help from other seventh and sixth years. Most evenings, we have anywhere from fifteen to fifty students participating in some fashion."

"Do you supervise every session?"

"No. The senior students rotate that responsibility."

"Why?"

"It allows us to adapt to what is required in the club each evening and ensues that we all can manage our schedules and coursework. By being flexible, we are able to help without causing us to slip in other areas," explained Minerva.

"You are on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, I believe?"

"Yes, sir. I'm a Chaser."

"Why did you choose to play that position, Miss McGonagall?"

"The Keeper and Seeker are the more passive positions; they tend to be less active during the match. The Beaters cannot directly control the outcome. However, the Chaser is constantly working towards his or her objective. Although the Seeker frequently determines the outcome of the individual match, the points the Chasers score are essential if a team hopes to win the series."

"Why are you applying for the Aurors?" Fitzwater asked. "With your talent and accomplishments, you would be guaranteed in any other Department in the Ministry, with the possible exception of the Department of Mysteries, which I see you have selected as a secondary option. You would also be very valuable to any private company or business.

"The Auror Department is exceptionally discriminating in who we accept and we require an additional three years of training. It is dangerous and difficult work which may place your life in jeopardy. Why would you choose the Aurors over your other options?" he questioned.

He laid his quill aside and scrutinized her. While he waited patiently, Minerva took a few moments to think before responding.

"I'm well aware of my abilities, Mr. Fitzwater. There are very few career choices in which I have the potential to use those abilities to their fullest extent. The Aurors and the Department of Mysteries are on that list of choices. Given the option, I would rather utilize those abilities to protect and to uphold the law, rather than in research and development which is the major goal of the Department of Mysteries."

"Active versus passive?"

"Yes, sir."

"From what I have gleaned from your application and your demeanor, you are not an impulsive, aspiring hero that wants the glory and rush of chasing down criminals. What motivates this desire, as you said, 'to protect and uphold the law?'"

"To put it simply, sir, I detest bullies who prey on those weaker than them. If I have the power to stop them, I believe that refusing to do so is tantamount to condoning their actions," Minerva stated bluntly.

"Do you have a particular reason for this belief? A past experience perhaps?"

"If you're asking if there was one specific incident which caused me to look to the Aurors as a career, my answer is no."

"Not even the altercation with Mr. Clayton?" he asked. When she didn't respond immediately, he continued, "I apologize if the question seems intrusive, but I do need to know."

"I don't have any sort of vendetta or crusade against Clayton, or anyone else for that matter, sir. I will admit that the incident served as confirmation, I suppose one might say, of my choice of career, but nothing more. I was already seriously considering the Aurors prior to the _start_ of my sixth year," Minerva explained.

"Good, but you understand why I had to ask."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm curious though, what did you mean by confirmation?"

"I didn't like being a potential victim and my powers helped me to avoid becoming one. I would like to use them to do the same for others or to help them to find justice afterwards."

"Do you believe that the law is absolute?" he asked next.

"No, I don't sir. I believe that an amount of flexibility and mercy can be exercised, and may be necessary in certain situations. However, I do think that there are lines which cannot be allowed to be crossed." Fitzwater nodded, picked up a quill and added more notes.

"Tell me three examples of those lines, Miss McGonagall?"

"Murder, rape, and torture."

"There are three Unforgiveable Curses. Which do you personally consider to be the worst?" Again, she contemplated the question for a minute or two.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Minerva finally declared, quiet and determined.

"Why?"

"The Imperius Curse can be fought if you have the will. There are numerous ways to kill, by magic or otherwise; the Killing Curse merely happens to be one of the most direct and obvious methods." She looked away, focusing on the whorl in the mahogany of his desk. Minerva returned her gaze to Fitzwater and continued, "In a desperate circumstance, I can imagine the necessity of using either the Imperious or the Killing Curses. If I needed to force someone to help me or to betray a secret in order to save lives, the Imperious Curse would be option. As for the Killing Curse, I recognize the difference between murder and self-defense or defense of others. If you have no alternative, I could understand using it."

"And the Cruciatus Curse?" Fitzwater prompted softly.

"The Cruciatus Curse is intended for one, single purpose – to inflict pain. There is no justifiable reason to use it," she pronounced. "It is torture and therefore inexcusable under any conditions."

Fitzwater's quill scratched across the parchments for a few lines. He flipped to another sheet and changed the direction of his questions.

"What is your greatest personal shortcoming?"

"My temper, sir."

"How do you try to correct for that weakness?"

"I force myself to pause and to reassess the situation before I do anything," replied Minerva. "I count in my head or I recite various facts to myself. Sometimes, I remove myself from the situation."

"What is your greatest strength?"

"My intelligence."

"Professionally, where do you want to be in twenty or thirty years?"

"I hope to be a senior member of the Auror Department. If I choose to leave the Auror Department, I believe that I will likely remain within the Ministry, perhaps as an Unspeakable or in the Wizengamot."

"Why might you leave the Auror Department?"

"There are several possibilities, Mr. Fitzwater. I could be permanently disabled in some way that would prevent me from continuing as an Auror. I could decide that I would prefer an occupation which would allow me to research or to raise a family and would not involve risking my life. I could decide that I do not want to spend my life hunting criminals. I don't believe that those last two are likely. The first scenario will remain a possibility as long as I remain an Auror," stated Minerva.

"I'm glad you have some comprehension of the dangers involved," Fitzwater remarked, clasping his hands atop the desk. "At this point, I would like to reiterate the process which is mandated for you to become a qualified Auror."

"Before you are accepted into the training program, you will be required to pass a series of assessments. They will include a physical component, but will be more focused on your psychological fitness and aptitude in order to determine if you have the mental and emotional capacity to be an Auror. If you pass those tests, you will be a trainee for three years, under the direct instruction and supervision of an experienced Auror. During this period, you will be continually evaluated and can be dismissed if you fail to meet our standards. At the end of those three years, your record will be reviewed. If it is deemed satisfactory, only then will you be registered as a qualified Auror. If it is not deemed satisfactory, which I assure you happens from time to time, you will be dismissed and will have spent three long and hard years without having attained your goal."

"Of course," he continued, "many of the other Ministry departments are quite willing to hire Auror candidates who complete their three years, but are judged unfit at the final review. You do have the option to withdraw, if you should so desire, during those three years, but you will not be permitted to reapply. Becoming an Auror is designed to be arduous on multiple levels, Miss McGonagall, and it will be, regardless of how skilled and talented you are. Do you understand all of this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you still certain that you wish to pursue this career?" demanded Fitzwater, staring her down.

"Yes, sir." There was no hesitation, no hint of indecision in her firm tone. She met her interviewer's gaze solidly, chin uplifted and spine straight.

"Very well." He set his quill aside, capped the ink well, and closed the folder. "That concludes your interview, Miss McGonagall. We will be scheduling a practical skills test for you by the end of the term although it may be possible to hold it at Hogwarts, for yourself and the other candidates. We'll notify you of that date as soon as it's know. After that and after we receive the results of your N.E.W.T. examinations, we will review your application and make a determination. You can expect receive an owl by the twenty-fourth of June, informing you of our final decision." Rising to his feet, Fitzwater waited for her to do the same before extending his hand to her.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss McGonagall," he said.

"It was an honor, sir," she responded. "Thank you for your time." Fitzwater moved around the desk and opened the door for her.

"Good day, Miss McGonagall."

"Good day, sir." Minerva retraced her steps to the lifts and rode one to the Atrium floor. Passing through the golden gates, she found Edward wriggling his fingers in the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

"Minerva, how was your interview?" he asked. He flicked his fingers, causing water droplets to fly off, before wiping his hands on his robes.

"Fine. How was yours?"

He smiled and said, "It went rather good, I think. We were sidetracked into a discussion of the value of protecting nonmagical animals from extinction by Muggles for a while so I believe I can safely say we were getting along fine. Kenwood, that was his name, said I would fit right in with rest of the Department."

"That's encouraging."

"What time is your interview with the Department of Mysteries tomorrow?"

"Nine thirty. Are you ready?" At his nod, she twisted on her heel and disapparated. With a pop, she materialized at the Hogwarts' gates. A second pop announced Edward's arrival. They placed their palms on the Hogwarts crest in the middle of the iron gate. It swung open obligingly and they started up the path to the front doors.

Edward glanced longingly towards the lake and the students sprawled snoozing on the grass or the group of boys tossing a ball between them. While still cool enough to require sweaters underneath their robes, the sunshine warmed the late April day enough to make being outdoors an enticing prospect.

"You have to study," Minerva reminded him, catching his train of thought.

"N.E.W.T.s aren't until June!"

"That's six weeks away. We'll need every one of those days, because, in addition to those exams, we will have final assignments to complete and a Quidditch Cup to win. By studying early, we can spend bit more time on Quidditch practice later without worrying that we are damaging our marks." She teased him a bit, "You should be more motivated to study than usual, considering we are returning from our Ministry interviews. You would hate to have given a good interview and then fallen short on the exams."

"I would like to state, for the record, that I'm refraining from sticking my tongue out at you with great difficulty," he retorted. "I suppose you're right, as usual though." He sighed and dragged his gaze from the other students. "What shall we start with? Care of Magical Creatures or Charms?"

"Charms," she declared. Retrieving their school bags from the dormitory, they retreated to an empty classroom where they would be free to practice spells and quiz each other.

* * *

Endnote: I took the liberty of changing up the Ministry a bit. I thought that, it being a magical building, it might be altered every so often to keep things fresh.

Please take a moment and review. And if anyone wants to put this in a community archive, feel free.


	13. Chapter 13

Queen of Swords: Chapter 13

Hogwarts Spring/Summer 1935

Author's Note: Delay was due to a combination of moving, being sick, and having my laptop be in the shop. It shouldn't happen again and now that I'm back on a schedule I hope to return to regular and consistent posting. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me despite the posting issues. And thanks to lullabymoon, my beta.

* * *

Complete with groans, headaches, sleeplessness, and bizarre talismans for good luck, the N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s arrived in the second week of June. As an alternative to the library, within which spellwork and potions were prohibited, Minerva had secured a couple of classrooms for the seventh years, not limiting the use to the Gryffindors. Various exclamations were frequently heard coming from those rooms.

"OUCH! That bloody hurt!"

"Then figure out how to do a shield charm properly!" retorted Richard Fawcett to Walter. Fortunately, the Matron was not required that time.

She was, however, called for when Orion Turner, having stayed awake for thirty-six straight hours preparing for an exam, decided to practice a small self-Transfiguration. The other boys laughed themselves silly at his peacock feathered eyebrows that remained when he was released from the hospital wing.

"Is it supposed to be bubbling like that?"

"Definitely not." Despite the immediate use of air purification charms, the entire corridor was rendered unusable for the rest of the day. Agnes Baker and Herbert Smith received a stern lecture from Professor Merrythought about Potions safety.

"Quintapeds live on the Isle of _Drear_, not deer."

"Oh, well, I thought perhaps the island had lots of deer and that's the reason for the name."

"No, Edward."

"That's good to know though."

"Why?"

"I now know what island to avoid considering I have no desire to encounter furry carnivorous beasts with a taste for human flesh." He shuddered dramatically. Minerva sighed and turned back to a parchment filled with Arithmancy formulas.

"Name the nine planets."

"Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and…and…"

"Pluto, do you remember when it was discovered?"

"Five years ago?"

"Right."

"What are the major moons of Jupiter?"

_Thud. _Blanche Watson's head fell forward unto the tabletop with a moan. When soft snores emanated from her a few minutes later, Mable Edgecombe merely shrugged a shoulder and continued reading her Astronomy notes.

Much to the seventh years' annoyance, N.E.W.T. Charms was scheduled for that final exam. As the majority of the year had taken it to N.E.W.T. level, this had effectively ended hopes of finishing the exams early on the part of those with fewer classes.

The Thursday evening before the Charms examination found the Gryffindors, plus a few from the other Houses, gathered in the study rooms. Around nine o'clock, John pointed his wand at his head and muttered. A jet of water erupted from the tip; he ducked instinctively to avoid it and thereby almost defeated his purpose. Almost, except for his unawareness of the fellow yearmates who happened to be behind him.

"John!" was the shriek of outrage. He wrenched around, now alert as he could have wished.

"Sorry!" Cecilia and Lucille glared at him, robes soaked and water dripping from their hair. "I guess I missed."

"You guess?" exclaimed Cecilia. "What were you trying to do, drown yourself?" Sniggers from the rest of the room caused the injured parties to grow even more incensed.

"No, I thought it would wake me up," he said in an attempt to defend himself. Scrambling up, he backed into the wall as the girls advanced upon him. John raised his hands in surrender. "I'm very, very sorry?"

"You will be," declared Lucille menacingly, brandishing her wand. She consulted Cecilia, "Warts or Bat-bogies?"

"Both," pronounced Cecilia. "You take care of the warts and I'll see to the Bat-Bogies."

"Put your wands away," said Minerva. "Let me help." She flicked hers at the two girls to dry their clothes and hair. An _Evanesco_ vanished the water on the floor. "Next time John, go for a walk around the hallways if you want to wake up."

"Come on," said Cecilia to Lucille, digging around in her bag to unearth a hair brush. "Let's go fix our hair." When they had left, sending venomous looks at John, Edward turned to him.

"Chocolate."

"Er?"

"Go down to the kitchens and ask the house-elves for something chocolate. They'll forgive you a bit quicker if you offer compensation," Edward declared. "You do not want them plotting on how to repay you for that accident."

"Excellent idea, thanks." John hurried out of the room. The other students, with a last few chuckles, resumed studying until Veronica Marchbanks came through the door.

Glancing around at the dozen or so seventh years, open textbooks, notebooks, and piles of parchment, she proclaimed, "Dear Merlin, I'm not looking forward to the N.E.W.T. examinations."

"No, no, NO, shrink, not grow! I wanted you to shrink!" cried Basil to a rapidly expanding potted plant. He jabbed at it, said the appropriate counterspell, and the growth ceased. He sighed, "I always confuse those two."

"Well, I may have something to cheer all of you up a bit," said Veronica. The assembled students gave her their attention, setting aside their work and wands. She perched herself on nearby desk.

"There's going to be a dueling competition on Saturday," she announced. Questions immediately flew at her from all sides.

"What?"

"Who told you?"

"How did you find out?"

"A dueling contest?"

Veronica nodded, smiling. "Yes, a dueling contest."

"But, how did you find out?" demanded Blanche Watson, repeating her inquiry again.

"I overheard Professor Merrythought talking to the Headmaster about clearing the Great Hall on Saturday afternoon to make room for a proper dueling platform or if the duels should be held outside."

"Who will be participating?" asked Donald. "The professors?"

"No, Professor Merrythought said that it would be open to any N.E.W.T. level student and that the contestants will be matched according to ability," Veronica told them. "I think that it'll be announced tomorrow evening during dinner after the final exam is over."

She hopped off the desk, and said, "I suppose I ought to leave you to your books. Good luck tomorrow everyone."

Minerva refocused on her Charms notes, ignoring the chatter from the rest about this surprise event. After a while, the room quieted again. "_Behavior-altering charms, as mentioned previously, must be used sparingly and with caution to ensure –_"

"Will you participate?"

She looked up at Edward's query.

"Yes. Will you?"

"Of course, do you think I would miss a chance like this? It should be great fun. I have a couple of jinxes I've never had the opportunity to use and this would be the perfect occasion. One of them is supposed to make your opponent bald."

"Think about that _after_ the Charms exam."

"Yes, mum, and I promise to eat my vegetables too."

"Study, Edward, now." Grumbling, he bent over his book and allowed her to find her place in her notes and continue.

_ "– to ensure that the subject of the charm does not become dependent upon said charm for their wellbeing. Behavior-altering charms are frequently employed in Healing for patients exhibiting nervous disorders to provide a temporary relief from symptoms. Prolonged usage of any behavior-altering charm should only occur under the supervision of a qualified Healer who has been trained and certified in the use of such spells. The person under the influence of these types of charms should be monitored for any sign of negative side effects. Some of the minor behavioral charms, such as the Cheering Charm, may be used by the layperson intermittently and should be limited as much as possible."_

* * *

"Pass the strawberry tart and whipped cream, please," John called down to Marian, three seats to his right.

"You've already had one slice," she replied.

"We finished our exams and I think I managed an Acceptable on Charms, maybe even scraped an Exceeds Expectations. I think I deserve another slice," he pronounced officiously. Marian rolled her eyes, but conveyed the treat back to him via Donald nonetheless.

"Thank Merlin Charms was the last of them," said Edward. "Any more studying and I'd go blind."

"Hear, hear," seconded Walter. He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Here's to no more exams."

"I'll drink to that," Lucille said, raising her own glass. The seventh years all clinked their goblets together, although a couple of them had to rise up onto their knees to reach.

"Only think, another month and we'll be done with Hogwarts," said Marian.

"It seems a bit strange doesn't it," Cecilia said.

"Students, students, if I could have your attention please?" The Headmaster had gotten to his feet at the staff table. "Thank you. I have announcement to make, although I believe I may have been preempted by some of your more curious classmates." He smiled indulgently down at them.

"Be that as it may, for those of you whom remain unaware, Professor Merrythought has arranged a dueling competition for tomorrow afternoon. Any N.E.W.T. level Defense against the Dark Arts or fifth year student is eligible to participate. Those students who wish to participate should speak with Professor Merrythought after dinner to place your name on the list. It should be noted that students applying to the Aurors are required to participate as a Ministry representative will be present. The competition will be held in the Great Hall at two o'clock and all students and staff are invited to attend."

Judging by the volume of chatter and the boasts being made as the Headmaster retook his seat, Minerva suspected that Merrythought should not have bothered with a list of who would be taking part. Instead, the Defense professor should have asked for who would_ not_ be participating since that would have saved her quite a bit of parchment and ink. The Great Hall would no doubt be packed tomorrow.

"You knew about this beforehand?" Edward enquired of her.

"Yes, Mr. Fitzwater notified me a week ago of it being arranged. He told me not to say anything about it."

"You could have told me," he said with a hint of a whine. "I wouldn't have told anyone if you had said I couldn't."

"I could_ not_ have told you, Edward. If I'm to be in his division, I can hardly begin by talking about something he explicitly wanted kept under wraps. That would be a very poor start," she declared. "If I had been allowed to, of course, I would have mentioned it to you."

"I see your point. Now, who do think you and I will be paired with?" he asked. "I can think of several possibilities for me, but I'm not sure who would do for you…Malfoy perhaps?"

"It could be either Malfoy or John."

"Which would you prefer?"

"Malfoy."

Edward grinned and rubbed his hands together. "I can't wait."

* * *

"Oh, well done," exclaimed Weasley when Richard Fawcett caught fellow sixth year prefect Sara Graves with a trip jinx. She fell and Richard immediately went to lend her a hand. Beside Weasley, Dumbledore agreed with a nod, waiting to make sure his Gryffindors were unharmed.

"I yield, Professor," she said to Merrythought, accepting Richard's hand and getting to her feet. Dumbledore relaxed a bit as it seemed Miss Graves had suffered no more than a light bruise from her fall.

"Mr. Fawcett, you have won this match, congratulations," declared Merrythought. The duelists shook hands and started to exit the dueling area. Sara was brushing off her robes as she walked and suddenly paused.

"Does anyone see my badge? I seem to have lost it," she said.

"I'll look for it." Richard strode back to where she had fallen, peering around. "I see it." Retrieving the bronze badge, he gave it to her. "I hope it's not damaged."

Sara eyed it for a moment before assuring him that it had not been harmed in the least. Richard smiled and escorted her beyond the inscribed circle that was the limit of the dueling zone.

"The students certainly appear to be enjoying themselves, don't you agree, Albus?"

"They certainly do," replied Dumbledore with a smile.

"I think it was a splendid idea to arrange this," said Weasley. "The students deserve some fun after the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s."

"And maybe we professors do as well," Dumbledore suggested slyly.

"You'll get no argument from me," Weasley replied. "I had one or two students who didn't seem to quite understand the concept of slowly learning the material over time and tried to cram two or three years worth into their heads in a few days."

"One of my fifth years turned their owl into a transparent crab which proceeded to scuttle about the common room and pinch people," said Dumbledore.

"Oh Merlin." Weasley shook his head.

"Did I mention it could still fly, or rather levitate?" Dumbledore continued to Weasley's muffled guffaw. "It took us nearly twenty minutes to corner and disenchant it. Latched onto poor Mr. Goulding's nose at the end with one claw and swung there snapping the other claw at anyone who approached."

Weasley stopped trying not to laugh. When he had himself under control again, he said, "Yes, I daresay the students _and_ staff deserve some fun." He and Dumbledore then turned their attentions back to the duels.

For the duels, the Great Hall had been cleared of the house tables and a shielded area created in the center of the room. An invisible wall absorbed any spells that reached it, provided that those spells fell within the range of power and intensity specified as acceptable by Merrythought. It also prevented any interference, intentional or accidental, by those outside. Rows of benches surrounded the circle set on a slight incline in order that those in the back might see. Some students had claimed spots and had not budged since the start of the contest while others drifted in and out of the Hall.

"Do you recognize the gentleman beside Artemisia?" Weasley asked. Dumbledore, whose focus had been on the current dueling pair of Ravenclaws, followed Weasley's line of sight until he located Professor Rosier and her companion. "He's familiar, but I can't remember from where I know him."

"Yes, I've met him. He's a senior Auror, if memory serves. His name is Michael Hawkins."

"He must be the representative from the Aurors." The man in question, froze momentarily, and then turned to sweep the room, as if he was aware of being watched and was trying to find his observers. His surnamed fitted him well: sharp eyes of dark brown almost black, trimmed silver hair, clean-shaven otherwise revealing a strong jaw line, and a lean figure with a military bearing that emphasized his height of six feet and one inch.

"Congratulations, Miss York," said Merrythought. While examining Rosier's guest, Dumbledore had missed the combination of spells that had ended the match. "There will be a twenty minute recess before the final three duels."

"Shall we introduce ourselves?" asked Weasley, nodding at Hawkins. "I'm curious."

"As am I," replied Dumbledore. The two professors waded through the students to reach Rosier and Hawkins.

"Good afternoon, Artemisia," Dumbledore greeted the Ancient Runes professor.

"Good afternoon, Albus, Frederick. Have you met my guest?"

"We were introduced at the Ministry a few years ago, Mr. Hawkins," said Dumbledore. "This is my friend and colleague, Frederick Weasley. Frederick, this is Michael Hawkins."

"A pleasure to meet you," said Weasley as they shook hands.

"And you, Professor."

"I understand you're a member of the Aurors?" Weasley asked.

"Yes, I am. I'm here to observe and evaluate the students who have applied to the Aurors."

"I thought Fitzwater usually handled the assessment of potential Aurors," Dumbledore commented.

"He does. However, this year he asked that I attend and give him my impressions of the candidates," Hawkins stated.

"How many have applied?" asked Weasley.

"Four are up for consideration," replied Hawkins.

"Albus, there you are," called Merrythought, approaching the group. "Would you be so kind as to help me reinforce the barriers? I want to ensure that they are impenetrable for the final duels. I have scheduled my most advanced students last and therefore the spells cast will be more powerful and concentrated. I don't want there to be any accidents if any go awry."

"Of course, Galatea." When they had finished the task, it was time for the competition to resume. The last three pairs were all seventh years. The first consisted of John Hamilton and a Ravenclaw; Hamilton won with a _Petrificus Totalus_. The second match went to a Slytherin, Pelias Avery, against Blanche Watson of Hufflepuff. The circle was cleared for the final duel.

"Miss McGonagall, Mr. Malfoy, please take your places on the dueling floor," instructed Merrythought.

"Your protégé?" queried Hawkins to Rosier. Having removed their badges and given them to friends' for safekeeping, the Head Girl and Boy strode out to meet in the center of the circle. The June sunlight illuminated them, falling in warm rectangles on the floor.

"Yes," answered the Slytherin Head.

Merrythought counted from one to seven, numbering the steps the duelists took to separate themselves.

"Unsheathe your wands," Merrythought instructed once the distance between the two had been established. As the wands were drawn, the bystanders hushed, settling down and focusing their attention on the duelists.

Unbidden, the pair saluted one another, lowered their wands to point towards the ground, and bowed, not deeply, but with solemnity and dignity.

"On three, students," said Merrythought.

"One." The wands came up, angling across their chests in a defensive position.

"Two." Feet shifted, slight adjustments of their stances and posture.

"Three. Begin." Neither stirred for a long moment, assessing, deliberating, watching until –

"Expelliarmus!" Twin jets of scarlet crisscrossed in midair. Dodging, the two retained their wands.

"Stupefy!" came from Malfoy a breath later.

"Protego." The shield reflected his spell, sending it into the barrier which absorbed it.

"Furnunculus!" Again, Minerva's shield repelled his attack.

"Impedimenta," tried Malfoy, unsuccessfully. He drew his wand back to cast again.

"Expelliarmus," cried Minerva, beating his cast. Forced to abort, Malfoy leapt sideways, avoiding a direct hit but his wand wrenched in his hand. He clenched his fingers and managed to hold on to it.

"Expelliarmus!" she cursed a second time.

"Protego!"

They exchanged spells for several minutes without any of them striking. From the watchers, there came gasps and clapping and occasional cries of encouragement.

"Stupefy," called Minerva which Malfoy deflected, stepping aside, and pointed his wand at the floor.

"Fulgurmaximus!" Lightning flashed, leaving Minerva blinded and a scorch mark in the flagstones. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. He was moving, pressing the advantage –

She twisted suddenly – and the scarlet ray of a Disarming Charm rebounded from her shield. The crowd gasped, breaking into whispers and murmurs of disbelief. Malfoy staggered backwards, astonishment and shock written on his face.

"How…?"

Minerva quirked the slightest hint of a smile and answered with a nonverbal _Pertificus Totalus._ Malfoy avoided it, and then scrambled out of the way of the Stunning Spell, also nonverbal, that followed it.

Straightening, he caught his opponent's eyes and, very deliberately, nodded. Minerva repaid the gesture in kind. They repositioned themselves at fourteen paces apart and paused, waited until their breathing recovered. Those assembled had fallen completely silent by that time. Many gripped the edges of their seats, leaning forward, transfixed on the spectacle before them.

Wands rose …one…two…three –

Red rocketed from Minerva's, blue streaked from Malfoy's. Neither hit; both duelists were already in motion.

Malfoy shot scarlet, chased by a purple – a shield deflected the first, but the second broke through as Minerva cast the yellow-orange Body-Bind Curse. She hissed as a weal formed on her arm where the spell had landed. It was the only sound which had passed her lips since they had recommenced.

Flicking her wand, the tie around Malfoy's throat began to tighten. He severed it, but had to drop to the floor to avoid her Disarming Charm. Getting to his feet, he sent a Trip jinx towards her to buy himself a bit of time. Minerva dodged it with ease, but waited until he was fully upright and steady on his feet before she cast her next spell. Never standing still, the duelists filled the air with bright flares of color. The observers were forced to use the colors to identify the spells as all of Minerva's and most of Malfoy's were cast wordlessly.

Red of a Stunning Spell.

Blue of an Impediment Curse.

Lime-green of a Hobbling Jinx.

Violet of a Stinging Hex.

Crimson of a Disarming Charm.

Gradually, it appeared that Malfoy was gaining ground. Minerva recast the Shield Charm again and again to deflect his spells, only occasionally casting an offensive spell of her own. She was forced to move backwards as they circled.

Observing this, Hawkins turned to Rosier, a silent question in his expression. Rosier offered a small smile, inclining her head towards the duelists.

"Be patient, Michael. The duel isn't over yet."

He refocused on the combatants. Malfoy hurtled a Stinging Hex at Minerva, raised his arm to cast again and –

"Diffindo!" he shouted, slashing at the ropes which had sprung up to bind him. A streak of crimson hit his shoulder; he stared at his abruptly empty right hand.

Minerva stepped forward and bent to pick up his wand; it had landed a few inches in front of her. She straightened with it held loosely in her left hand.

In the quiet of the Hall, Malfoy looked to Merrythought and stated formally, "I yield."

"Accepted," replied Merrythought, sounding a bit shocked. The students and professors began to applaud after a long moment and chatter broke out among them. "Congratulations, both of you. That was a splendid demonstration."

"Thank you, Professor," said the pair. Meeting him in the center of the circle, Minerva restored the pale wooded wand to its proper owner.

"You fought well, Malfoy." she pronounced.

"Yes. Had you been anyone else, I would not have lost. That is some consolation."

"Consolation?"

"If one must be defeated, it is preferable to lose only to the superior duelist in the competition rather than to any person of lesser ability or power," he answered.

"Thank you, Malfoy. I believe there was a compliment to me in that statement."

"Believe what you wish. One victory does not prove much; accidents do happen."

"Perhaps we'll have the chance to test your theory one day," Minerva said archly.

"Perhaps."

At the circle's edge, Merrythought and Dumbledore spoke the words to release the barrier wards. The duelists' conversation was then interrupted by the arrival of their friends and housemates. The duelists bowed once more to each other before being absorbed by their respective set.

Hawkins watched as Minerva accepted her congratulations graciously enough, but seemed relieved when the attention was diverted elsewhere. He stared at her until Rosier spoke.

"This way, Michael," said Rosier. "We can talk in my quarters." The two left Great Hall and downstairs to her chambers.

When they were seated across from one another by her hearth, Rosier enquired, "What did you think?"

"I'll recommend Hamilton and McGonagall to Fitzwater. He should be pleased."

"Will you consider taking one of them on yourself?"

"I don't like teaching."

"I'm well aware of that, Michael."

"The girl, I suppose, is the one you want me to take under my wing."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"She warrants the best instruction the Aurors can offer. I believe that is you."

"Flattery from you, Artemisia?"

"I'm merely stating the truth, Michael. Fitzwater was only made Head of the Auror Department because you hate politics and paperwork," said Rosier.

"Vile things, I'd rather hunt Dark wizards," remarked Hawkins. He leaned forwards and picked up a pawn from the chessboard laid on the coffee table between them. Toying with it, he let the silence grow for a minute or two.

"I'm curious, was that shield, after the Malfoy boy blinded her, skill? Or luck or even pure instinct?" he finally asked, raising his head to meet her gaze.

"I'm not sure. She may not even know herself. Perhaps a combination of all three," answered Rosier.

"She was watching him, testing him, figuring out how he fought," said Hawkins, continuing to pass the pawn from one hand to the other. "She realized that she could cast multiple consecutive spells faster than him and used a distraction which prevented him from using a Shield Charm. I didn't expect that." He snorted, "There's more to her than meets the eye, isn't there? You wouldn't know it from looking at her, but I think that there's a fighter in her, underneath that serious bookish appearance."

"Yes, there is," affirmed Rosier.

"How is her spellwork, her control over her magic?"

"Quite good, especially for one so young. Most students have difficulty regulating and utilizing the proper amount of power for each spell; they tend to use too much or too little. They can often be unfocused and erratic. Miss McGonagall has never demonstrated that problem. She masters the spells quickly and with admirable proficiency."

"How powerful is she?" The pawn stilled in his hands, standing upright on his palm.

Rosier shook her head and replied, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" questioned Hawkins, eyebrows raised and head cocked. "How can you not know? At some point, she must have flaunted her abilitiens, given you some indication – "

"No. She performs the work that is expected satisfactorily and with competently, but never, as you put it, flaunts her power." Rosier paused, contemplating her next words. She continued, "I believe she would it consider it wasteful, as well as egotistical, to do so. That is precisely why my estimation of her powers is merely that, an estimation based on careful study and my own intuition."

"And what is your estimation?"

"In raw power, she surpasses both of us," declared Rosier. "With twenty or thirty years of experience, she could well be the equal of any professor in this school."

"Including Dumbledore?"

Again Rosier shook her head, but in uncertainty rather than negation. "I'm afraid that remains to be seen. I believe it's possible. As I said, I cannot be sure of her limits. I don't believe she has ever approached them during her time here."

"I think I'm beginning to understand why you're so interested in her," remarked Hawkins. He replaced the pawn on the chessboard. "There's a war coming, Artemisia, you know it as well as I. So does the Ministry, well, those of us in Magical Law Enforcement and International Cooperation with an ounce of sense at least. If this girl is as promising, and as powerful, as you say, she could be useful. Pairing her with me will only increase the chance of her becoming very dangerously involved in the war effort. Are you sure that you want to risk her that way?"

"She has already made the choice to become an Auror. Nothing that I or anyone else can say will change that decision. I intend for her to be as well prepared as possible for whatever happens, Michael. One way or the other, I suspect she will become involved in this war; I want her to have the skills and knowledge to survive it."

"Alright then, I'll take her. Provided she lives up to your expectations. I'm a harsh taskmaster and if she can't keep up without whining –"

"She will, Michael. When have I ever been wrong about someone's potential and character?"

"Never, which is why I'm agreeing to this. Well, that and maybe I'm a little curious about what the Slytherin Head of House sees in a Muggleborn Gryffindor," said Hawkins. "I need to be going. Pilliwickle wants a meeting with the entire department at five and I've been told that I have to attend."

"I'll walk you to the gates," Rosier offered as she rose with him.

"No need to bother," he replied, waving her back into her seat.

"Thank you, Michael, for coming and for agreeing to take on Miss McGonagall. Please give Minister Pilliwickle and Fitzwater my regards."

"I'll do that. Good day, Artermisia."

"Good day, Michael." Hawkins exited her chambers, returning to the Entrance Hall and heading outside. In the doorway, he encountered Dumbledore.

"Mr. Hawkins, did you enjoy the demonstrations?" he asked Hawkins politely.

"They were interesting enough. Good afternoon," Hawkins stated, pausing only briefly before hastening down the steps.

"Mr. Hawkins, a moment if you please?" requested Dumbledore. Hawkins halted on the bottom stair and waited for Dumbledore to descend to him. "Thank you. Do you mind if I speak frankly?"

"Of course not. I'd prefer it."

"Why are you here?"

"I think I already told you that and I don't like repeating myself."

"You gave me a reason, not necessarily the most important or only one you have." Hawkins made no reply to this so Dumbledore pressed on. "Artemisia invited you on purpose and Galatea mentioned that she supported the idea of a dueling contest. In years previous, I believe Auror candidates traveled to the Ministry and were put through a practicum there. I must assume that Artemisia wanted you, in particular, to observe our students, or perhaps a single student, in such a competition that would best demonstrate his or her abilities. Am I correct?"

"I'm here to evaluate the Auror candidates, Dumbledore. Think what you like about that."

"Miss McGonagall would be the student in question, I presume? Artemisia has not shown such a considerable amount of interest in any other student," remarked Dumbledore. His eyes scrutinized Hawkins' features; the other wizard was unperturbed by being the focus of his glare.

"She_ is_ one of the candidates for the Aurors."

"What did you conclude about her?" Dumbledore probed.

"That she has potential. If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with my department head."

"Then I won't keep you any longer. Good day, Mr. Hawkins." Hawkins nodded, turned around, and stepped down onto the pathway. He had taken a few steps when he paused and revolved back to face Dumbledore who had remained standing in place.

"Miss McGonagall, could she become an Animagus, in your professional opinion?" Hawkins threw out the question as if it were an afterthought. His face betrayed nothing more than a mild, almost disinterested, curiosity.

"I believe so, yes. We have discussed the subject and she has expressed an interest in it," replied Dumbledore with a slight furrow in his brow.

"Interesting. Thank you and good afternoon, Professor. I expect I'll see you at the Ministry some time or another. You do seem to be there quite a bit more than is usual for a Hogwarts teacher." With that last comment, Hawkins turned his back on Dumbledore and the castle, striding off down the path. Dumbledore watched him for a minute before going inside.

* * *

After dinner, Rosier caught Minerva in the Entrance Hall and drew her aside.

"I spoke with Hawkins after the dueling. He agreed."

"I'll be honored to have him as an instructor. Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome, Miss McGonagall. "

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid I need to speak with Professor Rosier," said Professor Tofty as he approached them. "It's about Crabbe." Rosier's mouth tightened at the mention of her fourth year student.

"Certainly, Amphion. Good evening, Miss McGonagall."

"Goodnight, Professors," replied Minerva.

"Goodnight, Miss McGonagall," said Tofty. The professors walked in direction of the staircase to the lower levels while Minerva started climbing towards Gryffindor Tower. At the first floor landing, she found Edward waiting for her. He fell into step beside her as she kept climbing.

"What did she say?"

"Yes. I'm to train with Hawkins, assuming the Ministry accepts me as an Auror."

"They're going to accept you, Minerva, and you know it. You don't have to be so modest about it. It's exciting; my dad says he has the highest capture and successful case closure rates of the entire Auror Division. He's known for turning out topnotch Aurors too. And you're going to be one of them. When will you receive the Ministry's decision?"

"The twenty-fourth, nine days from now."

"Good. I'm supposed to get mine on that day too. We can open them together. Did Blanche have the chance to speak to you about tomorrow?" he inquired.

"No, she didn't, but Richard mentioned something about an extended tutoring session?"

"Some of the younger years are nervous about their exams and asked for more time tomorrow. I've already talked to Bernice and Joseph. They said they would be willing to help. I thought we could ask the rest of the fifth and seventh year prefects in the morning at breakfast. Since we're finished with our exams, most of us should be able to spare a bit of extra time between now and the regular exams for everyone else," explained Edward.

"That's a good idea. However, I think perhaps you should ask the Slytherin prefects. They might be less than receptive to me at the moment."

"Highly likely, you injured their pride. It would be best to give them a day or two to recover. I'll do the asking." He grinned at the memory of the duel. "Have I mentioned that you were brilliant against Malfoy?"

"Once or twice," she replied, smiling back at him.

"It bears repeating," he asserted.

"You did well yourself. You disarmed Orion handily."

"Yes, I did, but your duel was not on the level as mine. It makes me glad that we'll always be on the same side. I wouldn't want to have you as my opponent. You're quite scary when you set your mind to it."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one. Besides which, an Auror-to-be should be scary," he declared as they reached the portrait hole. At the Fat Lady's request, he offered, "Dragon's Breath Gumballs."

Once inside, they joined the rest of the seventh years at a table, spending the time before bed discussing the days' events and toasting the end of the N.E.W.T.s. When they were yawning, and Marian was dosing with her mouth wide open, goodnights were said and, after shaking Marian awake, they separated for bed. Minerva lay awake for a little while, listening to the soft whiffling snores of Lucille and the rustling as Beth shifted in her sleep, reflecting upon the duel and upon the prospect of training with Hawkins to be an Auror. Finally, she set those thoughts aside and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Please review if you've enjoyed this chapter/story. Reviews brighten my entire day.


	14. Chapter 14

Queen of Swords – Chapter 14

Summer 1935

Author's Note: Due to my issues, this chapter has not been betaed yet. I apologize if there are more than faults than usual, but I wanted to get it up on schedule. It will be betaed and reposted soon.

**Note to Readers:** I solemnly swear on my stack of Harry Potter books that this story will not be abandoned. Recent delays were due to computer problems, moving, and a case of writer's block. I can't promise that will be able to maintain a two-week update schedule, but I will not abandon the story itself. I am still very invested in and excited about this story.

And thank you to the wonderful people who reviewed the previous chapter.

_To the Anonymous Reviewer who asked about artwork - Absolutely yes. Please send me a PM with an email or something so we can stay in touch. _

* * *

Edward stared at the envelope of heavy cream parchment, emblazoned with the purple and gold Ministry emblem and addressed in precise, elegant script to him. A hoot from the eagle owl who had delivered the missive prompted him to remember to offer a piece of toast. Minerva, seated across from him, passed him the water pitcher to fill a goblet for the owl.

_Thump._ A second eagle owl landed in front of John, who was sitting beside Edward. It carried two letters, waiting until John took one before hopping over to Minerva to give her the second. They bore the same emblem as Edward's beside the address. Turning it over, she saw the wax seal impressed with the insignia of the Aurors, a wand and sword crossed on a shield. She glanced at Edward's; his seal displayed the dragon, unicorn, and phoenix heraldry of the Department of Magical Creatures.

"Shall we open them?" she asked.

"Not here," replied Edward. "I don't want to open it here in case…" He looked down at his plate and grimaced. "I'm suddenly not hungry any more. Are you finished?"

"Yes."

"Let's go outside. John?"

"No, thank you. I'd rather open it by myself if you don't mind."

"Sure, I understand," Edward said, standing and coming around the end of the Gryffindor table to join Minerva on her side. As they walked down between the tables, Minerva noticed a few other sevetnth years with envelopes similar to theirs. Some of them had apparently opened them and were being either congratulated or consoled by their friends. At the door, they ran into Agnes Baker and Herbert Smith, both clutching envelopes in their hands as well.

"Ministry?" asked Agnes in an almost whisper.

Edward nodded.

"Good luck," said Herbert.

"And to you," replied Minerva. Agnes made for the stairs, heading for the Ravenclaw Tower, while Herbert went off in direction of the staircase leading down to the Hufflepuff common room. The two Gryffindors pushed open the Entrance Hall doors and strolled towards the lake. They sank down onto a convenient hillock, facing the lake. For a couple of minutes, they watched the water ripple as the submerged giant squid swam to and fro.

"I guess we ought to open these," Edward said finally, waving the envelope clutched in his hand. Minerva nodded and looked down where hers lay in her lap. She traced the lines of the wand and of the sword with her eyes. She read the inscription,_ Tueri et Servire,_ across the top of the crest – To Protect and Serve. Runes, with the same meaning, were interwoven in the background. Minerva's lips shaped the words of the motto soundlessly.

"On three?" suggested Edward. He dropped his letter into his lap as well in order to swipe his hands on his ropes. Minerva noted that the envelope showed the faint stains of sweat.

"On three," repeated Minerva. He gave her a half-smile, too nervous for a real grin. They both picked up the letters again. Minerva took a deep breath; Edward wriggled into a straighter sitting position.

"One… two… three," he counted. Minerva slid a finger underneath the seal; the wax crumbled a bit as she separated it from the paper. Envelope opened, she removed the paper within. The letter itself was of the same heavy parchment, stamped again with the Auror's emblem at the corner.

She paused for a second before unfolding it. Beside her, Edward had paused too. They glanced at each other, nodded, and turned back to their own letters. Minerva heard his letter rustle as she undid hers. Then, there was silence as they read.

_Dear Miss McGonagall,_

_ The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is pleased to offer you acceptance into the Auror Department as apprentice in Auror training. If training is completed successfully, you will be instated as an official Auror with all the duties and rights attached to that position. Please contact the Auror Department upon receipt of this offer with your response. If, at this time, you wish to accept the position, a meeting will be scheduled to discuss the specific details of your employment. After terms are negotiated, you will submit your formal acceptance and be entered into Ministry records as an apprentice in the Auror Department._

_ Congratulations,_

_ Alexander Fitzwater_

_ Director of the Auror Department_

A rush of relieved giddiness swept through her body, knot in her stomach uncoiling. The band holding her lungs prisoner snapped and the clean, sweet scent of the summer morning filled her.

"I'm in," whispered Edward incredulously at her side. "I'm in. I'm an official member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." Blinking, he held the letter up to the sun at arm's length as if examining it for authenticity.

"Here," he offered it to Minerva. "Make sure I'm not reading this wrong or something." She took it, handing him hers in exchange. His mouth twitched as if he was trying not to contain himself until she confirmed his reading.

"You're reading it right," she quickly assured him.

"Yours is shorter than mine," he commented, but his grin was fit to split his face in two. Minerva smiled back. "Congratulations, Minerva."

"Congratulations, Edward," she answered. He extended his hand, she took it, and they shook. When they let go, Edward laughed and whooped, leaping to his feet.

"We're in, Minerva!" He pumped his fist into the air. Her letter fluttered in his other hand. As she got to her feet, Minerva watched him with a smile for a bit before holding out his letter.

"Give me back my letter before you accidently lose it and here's yours," she demanded, albeit good-naturedly.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized and held out her letter.

"It's all right," his friend replied, exchanging his for hers.

Letters returned to the right person, they refolded and replaced them in their envelopes, Edward having to first scrounge around in the grass for his envelope, which were pocketed in their robes.

They started walking towards the castle, Edward skipping every few steps in his excitement. At the sight of that and of Minerva's smile, their housemates swamped them with congratulations when they returned to the Gryffindor table.

* * *

Minerva knelt in front of her trunk, shifting a pair of shoes to make room for one last book. The trunk was almost packed except for those things needed for that night and the following morning: pajamas, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, bath items, and a set of clothes.

"Lucille, I found your scarf," exclaimed Marian. "It was hiding in the back of my wardrobe." She brought it over to her friend. Lucille paused in her packing, sweater half-folded on her bed, and glanced over her shoulder at Marian.

"Oh, good, just lay it in there," said Lucille, nodding at the bedspread.

Marian put the scarf down and eyed the pile of clothes on Lucille's bed. "I'm not sure everything is going to fit."

"It will," declared Lucille. "I'm a witch after all. I'll make it all fit."

"There you are," cried out Cecilia from the floor, stretching an arm underneath her bed and retracting it to brandish a necklace in the air. "I thought I had lost you."

"It must have fallen off your nightstand and been swept under the bed," said Beth. She wrapped her silver-backed mirror in a shawl and laid it carefully in a nest of sweaters in her trunk.

"What's the time?" asked Lucille.

"Quarter to seven," replied Minerva. She started checking the drawers of her bedside table and wardrobe for missed items.

"We should go down to feast. We can finish packing afterwards," suggested Cecilia. She glanced at Minerva's trunk and amended, "Well, you won't have to, Minerva, as you're already finished." The girls left off their work, collected their pointed formal hats, and headed downstairs. In the common room, they found the seventh year boys waiting for them.

"We thought we would walk down together," said Basil. Together, the group climbed out of the portrait hole and descended towards the Great Hall. Minerva noticed that Donald and Marian held hands the entire way.

Gryffindor banners hung from the rafters of the Great Hall and along the walls. The entire table was jovial, laughing and grinning and chattering. The golden plates shone in the candlelight amid the sea of the black robes and hats of the students. At the staff table, the professors were dressed finer than usual, the Heads of Houses resplendent in their house colors with Dippet garbed in the royal purple of Hogwarts. Once the tables were filled to capacity, Dippet stood.

"Before we enjoy our feast, I believe the House Cup needs awarding," he announced as the students quieted. "In fourth place, Ravenclaw with 472 points. In third place, Hufflepuff with 515 points. In second place, Slytherin with 612 points. And in first place, Gryffindor with 633 points."

As he spoke, he pointed his wand at the Hogwarts draperies along the walls. They shimmered and shifted until the lion on scarlet emerged. The House banners behind the Head Table remained the same, but gold and red grew along the edge of the Hogwarts one.

He was forced to wait for the cheering from the Gryffindor table to die down before continuing. Minerva clapped as heartily as everyone else, but refrained from whistling or shouting as many were doing.

Eventually, Dippet continued, "Congratulations and well done to all four Houses. These are the highest point totals in almost two decades and, as such, they speak to the excellent standards that the student body, as a whole, has cultivated this year. Now, I believe it is time to let the feast begin."

At once, platters and dishes materialized on the tables, filling the chamber with the aromas of roast beef, fresh baked rolls, and shepherd's pie. When nothing remained except the bones and crumbs, puddings appeared – fruit tarts, chocolate cake, berries and cream, every possible dessert desired by a Hogwarts student. They too were devoured speedily.

A sharp _ching, ching_ of Merrythought's knife on her goblet brought the students' attention to the Headmaster.

"Before we say goodnight, I have a few final words. To those of you who will not be returning in the fall, I wish you success as you embark on the next stage of your life. I believe I speak for the entire staff when I say that you have consistently impressed us with your accomplishments, academic and otherwise, and with your characters. You will be missed, but I trust that your future will be bright."

As he spoke, Minerva looked about herself at her circle of friends, Edward seated to her right and Beth to her left. Beth's eyes were misting as were Cecilia's and Lucille's who sat across the table. Marian leant against Donald, hands clasped beneath the table on Beth's other side. John was opposite Edward with Basil and Walter opposite of Beth and Donald. Her mind flashed back to the first time they had sat together as newly sorted Gryffindors, all of them a mixture of apprehension and excitement at being there, learning names and asking about families and homes and hobbies.

She remembered how shy Beth had been, saying almost nothing for the entire feast, but how Marian had drawn her out at last by asking her about her two cocker spaniels. She remembered how Edward and Walter had begun explaining the basics of Quidditch to John using forks as players and goblets as goal posts. She remembered how Cecilia had admired Lucille's animated butterfly hairclip and how Lucille had promptly offered to let Cecilia borrow it; Cecilia had worn it on the first day of classes. She remembered how Basil and Donald had bonded over their mutual affliction of having bossy older sisters who apparently drove them batty.

To Minerva, it seemed much less than seven years since that meeting. The memories of them as first years at the beginning of the Hogwarts' career blended with the present vision of ten mature witches and wizards preparing to leave their school for the final time.

She was brought out of her thoughts when Edward nudged her with an elbow. At the staff table, Dippet was gesturing for the students to stand. When everyone had gotten to their feet, benches scrapping against the flagstones, he wrote the opening line of lyrics for the school song in midair.

Minerva sighed, but dutifully sang along with the rest and, as with the other seventh years, didn't need to watch Dippet's conjuring for the words. The boys bellowed out the song as loudly as possible while Cecilia, Lucille, and Beth finished with faltering voices as they struggled not to cry. Handkerchiefs were produced and a few sniffles and tears hidden in them.

"Did you even sing, Minerva?" teased John. "I couldn't hear you."

"I'm not surprised, considering how loud you were," she replied. "I did sing, but without your enthusiasm. Forgive me if I still believe that our school song should be a bit more…dignified than 'Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts' and so forth."

"And I still disagree," answered John, cheerfully preparing to dispute her claim. "Not everything has to be serious; some things can be just plain fun."

"You two have had this argument before, on several occasions," Donald commented. "Let's skip the debate this time and agree to disagree as usual."

"Done," said John and Minerva nodded in accord.

"Please remember to be in the Entrance Hall at half past eight and to ensure that your trunk is fully packed and ready in your dormitories," announced Dippet. "Goodnight, students."

While the younger students moved out of the hall, the seventh years of all the Houses lingered at the tables. At Professor Tofty's gentle urging, they relinquished their seats and ambled out into the Entrance Hall. There they gathered in small groups, settling on the staircase or leaning against the walls, talking, reminiscing, and speculating about what their lives would be like after Hogwarts.

When the clock struck nine thirty, Minerva excused herself from a knot of fellow Arithmancy students, "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

As she passed Edward, he called out, "Where are you going?"

"I'm meeting with Professor Rosier."

"One last chess game?"

"Yes."

"Good luck." Minerva traversed the dim corridor to Rosier's quarters.

"Good evening, my daughter," the portrait enchantress greeted her.

"Good evening, Vivien."

"The professor is expecting you," she replied, smiling and swinging her frame open to allow Minerva to enter.

"Thank you," said Minerva as she stepped through.

"Good evening, Miss McGonagall," said Rosier, turning from the bookcase with the chessboard in her hands. She walked over to the fireside chairs and coffee table with it. The room was comfortably lit with lamps and a fire. "Please have a seat."

"Good evening, Professor," Minerva returned, settling into the chair. She slid open the drawer of the chessboard and began removing figurines. She placed them beside the chessboard. Meanwhile, Rosier prepared two cups of tea and brought them over.

"Would you prefer black or white, Professor?" solicited Minerva, taking the offered cup.

"I'll leave the choice to you, Miss McGonagall."

"I'll play white, then, if you don't mind," she said.

"Of course not."

Hearing this decision, the white king bowed and proclaimed, "We would be honored to serve you, fair maiden." The black king made a similar statement, substituting noble lady for fair maiden, and his obeisance to Rosier.

"Thank you," Minerva replied and lifted each of the figurines carefully into place on the black and white tiles. When the board was ready, Rosier smiled and waved a hand graciously for Minerva to proceed with the opening move.

White pawn, black pawn, white pawn, black pawn, white pawn, black knight, white knight, Minerva and Rosier directed their pieces forward. They played quietly for a while, building defenses and preparing offensive lines of attack.

"When do you begin your training?" asked Rosier

"The twenty-second of July."

"Where have you decided to live?" inquired Rosier after ordering a bishop to advance two black tiles.

Minerva countered by moving her knight back out of danger and replied to the question, "In London. I found a flat through an advertisement in the _Daily Prophet_. It's within walking distance of the Ministry of Magic and Diagon Alley which will be convenient if I don't wish to use magical transportation."

"Will you return to your parents' house before you take up residence in London?"

"I plan to spend tomorrow night there," Minerva said. "I'll apparate from King's Cross. I would like to stay a few days at home, but that may not be an option."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I haven't told my family about the Aurors yet. I'll do so tomorrow and I suspect that my parents will not take the news well. My father in particular is going to be most unhappy. If I'm unwelcome after that, I've arranged to stay with the Potters for a few days before I can move into the flat."

She sent a castle to her left in response to a repositioning of Rosier's queenside knight. Each had lost a couple of pawns and a knight since the game began. Two moves later, Minerva managed to capture a black bishop.

"Nicely done, Miss McGonagall," said Rosier.

"Thank you, Professor."

A few moves passed, resulting in a capture of a white pawn, before Rosier voiced, "Have I ever told you how I came to be teaching at Hogwarts?"

"No, you never did."

"You should understand, for a traditional Ravenclaw family, or for a Hufflepuff one, the choice would not be as singular, but those of Slytherin aristocracy rarely opt for education as their profession, if they choose to work at all. Most of us would prefer to be in the Ministry, closer to the center of power, or to hold high offices elsewhere in private businesses."

"As you're from the upper class of the Muggle world, you will understand my meaning when I say that there are roles which one is expected to fulfill. In pureblood society, marriage is of the upmost importance, perhaps still more so than in the Muggle world because the very survival of the society depends upon the right matches being made and the proper continuation of the pure bloodlines. The prospects for both men and women are limited due to the consideration of blood status and of the need to marry as far outside one's immediate family as possible. Often, a marriage is more or less arranged by the family patriarchs and matriarchs with only cursory input from the couple. The marriage cannot be forced, but the families can exert intense pressure on the children to marry whom they have designated."

"When I was your age, my mother informed me that I had three choices for husbands – Castor Yaxley, Acheron Lestrange, or Janus Malfoy. I had no desire to marry anyone at that time and my family agreed to let the matter be until I finished my apprenticeship and earned my Mastery in Ancient Runes. However, after I had achieved that goal, they began to insist that I marry either Acheron or Janus; Castor had been married before I completed my studies. When I refused again, they could not accept it. My mother saw to it that I was snubbed by society and, to some extent, by those people with whom I sought to work. She bared me from the family home until such time as I reconsidered my rejection and repented by marrying the proper suitor."

"Obviously, I did not yield to my family's wishes despite all of their manipulations. Rather, to their dismay, the expulsion from pureblood society forced me to reevaluate the beliefs in which I had been indoctrinated since birth, namely those regarding the inherent superiority of purebloods. I formed friendships and working relationships with those of mixed blood, Muggleborns, and of families such as the Prewetts and the Bones which do not subscribe to the Slytherin ideology. I came to realize that clinging to the pureblood ideology would ultimately harm our entire Magical society. Needless to say, my family threatened to formally disown me when I began to express such opinions."

"Did they?"

"No, it would have drawn more attention than they wanted. Instead, they decided to simply pretend I had ceased to exist," said Rosier with a glint of dark humor about it. "Around that time, I learned of an opening for the Ancient Runes professorship at Beauxbatons. I applied and was accepted. After four years in France, I was contacted by Headmaster Dippet. He needed a Slytherin to replace the retiring Arithmancy professor, who had been the Slytherin Head of House, but, fortunately for me, he also required a new Ancient Runes professor as well. I took the post."

"Slytherin House has been plagued by its pureblood ideology for centuries and I fear it will crumble if measures are not taken to prevent that outcome. The world is changing, Muggle and Wizarding alike, and the other Houses are adapting, blending the strengths of the older bloodlines with the new ones. Still, the Slytherin aristocracy holds significant power, and they could cause a destructive schism in our society if they refuse to change."

"I hoped that, with my appointment as Head of Slytherin House, I could help influence the younger generation to, if not approve of mixing wizard blood with Muggle, than to at least accept it as inevitable and relax their prejudices."

"You are aware, to a degree, of what is occurring in Germany under Gellert Grindelwald's rule?" Rosier asked. Turning back to the boards, she ordered, "Queen, forward four spaces."

"Yes, Professor. Under new laws, Muggleborns are regulated to second-class status with fewer rights than purebloods and a lower standing in the courts."

Minerva's eyes, which had been fixed on Rosier, dropped to the chessboard. The queen's move had placed a bishop in jeopardy.

"Bishop, three spaces up and left." She returned her gaze to Rosier and asked, "Why now though Professor? Do you have an idea as to why Grindelwald's creed has gained this amount of support in recent years?"

"There is no simple answer to your question. Part of reason, I believe, is the rapid technological advancement of the Muggle world in the past century and a half and the changes in civilization which have accompanied it. The Wizarding world has possessed greater knowledge and tools for bettering our lives than the Muggle world until now. The scales have begun to level so to speak," Rosier paused and moved a castle.

She continued, "Furthermore, the Great War was frightening for many in the magical community, Miss McGonagall. The amount of destruction it caused, particularly due to new technologies, was shocking. There are those who feel that the Muggles have the potential to misuse the power given to them by these new technologies in such a way that would threaten the magical world as well as the Muggle one."

" Grindelwald has expressed precisely this viewpoint – Muggles should not be allowed to remain in control of this power, that they are like children who have been given a wand and are casting spells at random without any understanding or thought of the consequences. The Wizarding world, therefore, must step in and prevent them from harming themselves and the world at large." Rosier shook her head in denial.

"It's an extension of the same pureblood ideology to which my family, and those akin to them, ascribes. In my opinion, an attempt to impose control over the Muggle world by wizards and over mixed bloods by purebloods can only lead to bloodshed and chaos. It could destroy our society, not preserve it as Grindelwald and his ilk claim. To do so, we will need people willing to stand up to him."

"Is that the reason you took an interest in me?" inquired Minerva softly. "Rook, F3 to C3."

"No," Rosier stated firmly. "I took an interest in you because you are an exceptional person in and of yourself. You showed a keen desire for knowledge and the potential to become a most remarkable witch in terms of skill and of character. And," she offered a small smile, "Because I saw myself in you. I wanted to encourage you, to help you develop into the witch I knew you could be. The fact that you are Muggleborn did not enter into the decision nor did I consider, at the first, if and how you could affect the future."

"At the first? And now?"

"Now, I find I cannot help but consider it, having come to know you better. You have been endowed with potent gifts and the choices you make will have the possibility to affect change to greater extent than most of your contemporaries." Rosier pointed to a square on the board, ordering her bishop to move to it.

"I know," said Minerva. Studying the board, a scheme occurred to her. "Pawn, H5 to H6. Professor, you speak as if…as if I might be fated somehow to play a predestined role because I was given these gifts."

"There are a few who would phrase it as such, but I am not one of them."Rosier paused to examine the board, issuing a command before continuing. "Rook to B4. Each of us always has the freedom to choose which path to walk, which actions to take, which beliefs to uphold and which to discard. That is nature of being human. We are not mere chess pieces to be moved hither and thither." She waved a hand over the chessboard.

"But then, this freedom has a price – we must assume responsibility for our choices and for the actions arising out of those choices. We must also remember that the decision not to interfere in or to ignore a situation is a choice as well and carries its own consequences. To a degree, our choices are defined by the person we are, our upbringing and our experiences, by our morals and beliefs, and by the constraints of the situation itself. Nonetheless, it is foolish to mistake those factors for destiny or fate. Ultimately, each decision rests with you."

"Bishop, two squares up and left. What if you make the wrong decision? Or if there is no right choice?" Minerva asked, looking up from the board at Rosier.

"That is always a possibility and you will have to decide for yourself what you would do in those situations," Rosier replied. "Knight, capture the bishop." The bishop scuttled off the board to avoid being trampled by the knight.

"Queen, retreat two spaces," ordered Minerva, her heartbeat quickening as she waited for Rosier's next move.

"Bishop, capture white's queen," Rosier responded.

"Pawn to H7."

Rosier studied the board for a long minute. She pronounced, "I fell for your trap. You sacrificed the bishop and queen to draw my pieces away from the pawn which you can now safely promote in the next move. King, forward one space." Rosier smiled, proud despite the realization that checkmate was probably inevitable.

"Pawn to H8," instructed Minerva who couldn't contain her own smile. She removed the pawn, replacing it with her fallen queen who straightened her crown and strode regally back into play.

Rosier moved her king, Minerva her queen, and Rosier shifted her remaining knight to protect her king by blocking the white queen. Minerva promptly ordered her castle to take the knight. Rosier shifted her king, but it was futile; the white queen stepped onto a new square.

"Check and mate," declared Minerva.

"Congratulations, Miss McGonagall."

"Thank you, Professor."

"One more cup of tea perhaps before you leave?"

"Yes, thank you." Rosier took their cups, refilled them, added sugar to taste, and brought Minerva's back to her.

After a couple of sips, Minerva said softly, "I'm going to miss this."

"As will I," replied Rosier. "Or did you mean Hogwarts in general, and not specifically our meetings."

"I meant both," she said. "If it would not be presumptuous, I was hoping that I might write to you from time to time?"

"Of course you may. I would be glad of it," Rosier assured her.

"Thank you." Minerva continued, "On another note Professor, do you know who will be chosen as Head Girl and Boy next year?"

"Miss Cooper of Ravenclaw and Mr. Haughton of Gryffindor are the probable choices."

"I thought it might be them. I want to ensure that next year's student Heads would continue the tutoring program. I'll hand responsibility for the club over to them at the prefects' meeting tomorrow. I would like it to continue to do well next, even though I will be gone." She abruptly shook her head. "I'm afraid I'm still not used to the thought of not returning here in the fall. Most of my experience in the Wizarding world has been centered around Hogwarts; I've never truly lived in the Wizarding world outside of the school."

"I'm sure you will adapt." The clock chimed and Rosier glanced at it. "I shouldn't keep you any longer. Your housemates are probably waiting for you in the common room. An end-of-term party is traditional in any House."

Minerva smiled, "I don't think any of the Houses will be in bed before midnight."

"Probably not," said Rosier, rising. Minerva put her teacup down and followed suit. They walked towards the portrait hole which opened at their approach. Rosier stopped her when she would have stepped through.

"A moment, Miss McGonagall." She picked a parchment wrapped package off the sideboard and handed it to Minerva. "I would like you to have this."

At her nod, Minerva unwrapped it to reveal an aged book, cover and spine made of darkened leather, worn soft to the touch. The cover bore a single symbol of three interlocking circles inscribed in silver on the leather.

"Professor?"

"This book was passed to me by my mentor when I finished my Mastery. From what she told me, she was given it by her mentor."

"What does it contain?"

"It's primarily a spellbook, but it also contains formulas for potions, notes on runes and Arithmancy, research on ancient magics, and other miscellaneous knowledge. Each owner adds to the book; blank pages will appear at the end, but that may not occur until the book is satisfied in you. Including myself, there have been twenty owners and contributors to the book. You will be the twenty-first," explained Rosier. "When you encounter the proper person, you are expected to pass it on to her when the time comes."

"Her? The owner must be a witch?" questioned Minerva.

"Yes. The book will not permit you to bequeath it to a man. The possessor before my mentor attempted to impart it to a grandnephew, but the book returned to her three times, reappearing in her library, until she desisted. A year later, she met my mentor and eventually gave the book to her instead."

"How long does each witch usually keep the book?"

"It varies, although I suspect most retain it for at least a decade. However, I believe a couple of them possessed it for less and there are indications that several witches held it for multiple decades, perhaps as long as fifty years in one or two cases. As far as I've been able to determine, the decision on when and to whom you wish to pass the book onto is yours alone and not dictated by the enchantment on the book."

"Good, I don't relish the thought of being forced to do something by an inanimate object."

"When I received the book, my mentor was careful to reassure me of the extent of the enchantment. It cannot compel you in any fashion, but will respond favorably to you if you treat it well. Will you accept it? You can refuse it without offense to me," Rosier assured Minerva.

"I'll accept it, Professor. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I trust you will use it wisely."

"I will, I promise."

"Good." Rosier extended her hand to Minerva who took it, transferring the book to her left hand. "We'll see each other tomorrow, but I prefer to have our formal goodbye said here."

"Goodbye, Professor and thank you for all that you have done for me," said Minerva. "I won't disappoint you."

"I know. It has been an honor and a pleasure to have you as my student, Miss McGonagall. One day, when you are a little older, I would be pleased to call you a friend."

"I would like that too."

"Until then, I wish you well. Goodbye and goodnight, Miss McGonagall."

"Goodnight, Professor," replied Minerva. Rosier released her hand, Minerva stepped into the hallway, and the portrait swung closed. With an orb of light gliding along beside her, Minerva meandered through the corridors and ascended the staircases towards the Gryffindor Tower. She walked rather slower than normal, memorizing and recollecting at the same time. Her mind wandered from the first glimpse of the glittering lights of Hogwarts from the boat to the whoosh of the Quaffle as it hurtled towards the goal to the pine and sugar scent of the Great Hall near Christmastime.

"Password please," requested the Fat Lady. Minerva started, not having realized she had arrived back at the Tower.

"Valete," she answered, climbing through when the portrait was open. A sixth year immediately bumped into her, almost spilling his butterbeer over both of them.

"Oops, sorry, Minerva," he said.

"No harm done." He saluted her and moved off. Spying the seventh years ensconced at a table by the windows, open to cool the crowded common room, Minerva threaded her way across the room. This feat was made somewhat difficult by what seemed to be entire House determined upon celebrating the end of term.

The seventh years, on the other hand, were quieter than their housemates. A space had been left for Minerva at the table which she filled. John passed her a butterbeer and Cecilia offered her a bowl of assorted snacks. Refusing the snacks politely, Minerva uncapped the butterbeer. Basil was looking offended, the others amused, and John was smirking.

"I thought we agree we were never going to mention that again," declared Basil indignantly.

"Did we say that? I don't remember saying that," said John with a laugh. "I'll certainly never forget those long pigtails Anne cursed you with in fourth year and those big pink bows on the ends. You should have known better than to insult her favorite team."

"You broke your wrist two weeks later trying to impress Grace Cavendish by jumping from table to table in the Great Hall. And Professor Forsythe still gave you a detention," Basil shot back at John.

"It was worth it. She kissed me," he declared.

"Didn't Arnold Harper take her to the Valentine's Tea this year?" queried Lucille.

"He did," replied Cecilia, "but she only went with him because Daniel took Beatrice. Grace has been sweet on him for ages."

"Remember two years ago, when Walter used to turn bright red whenever Elsie Richardson walked by and stuttered if she actually spoke to him?" said Edward with a grin.

"At least I didn't write a seventh year bad poetry when I was only a fourth year," Walter countered. Edward flung up his hands in a what-else-could-I-have-done gesture.

"She was very pretty and I had never been in love before," he proclaimed.

"Do you remember _that_ Potions lesson in third year?" Cecilia asked Marian.

"Which one – oh you mean _that one_?" Marian giggled. "Yes, yes I do. What on earth possessed you to drink that Keep-Awake potion, Edward? You never did tell us."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said with a shrug.

"If a good idea has you staying awake for three days and hallucinating 'The Attack of the Garden Knomes' in our dormitory, I don't want to know what you consider a bad idea," said Donald.

"It wasn't that bad!"

"You overturned all of the beds and barricaded us in. You kept shouting 'you'll never take us alive, you short little devils,'" Walter reminded him.

"_You_ managed to turn Lucille's owl into a cabbage," Edward said in response.

"I didn't mean to."

"And she wasn't harmed. Professor Forsythe undid the spell," chimed in Lucille.

"Remember our first day in his class?" asked Marian. "When he transfigured himself into a tree and then into robin?"

"That was brilliant," said John.

"I liked the first lesson in Care of Magical Creatures," Beth ventured. "The nifflers were cute."

"I could never decide whether I liked them or the unicorns better," Cecilia said.

Such was the tenor of the group's conversation; they talked amongst themselves about their experiences at Hogwarts while the party continued around them. Younger year students stopped by the table to offer their congratulations and best wishes, but the seventh years remained together until well past one in the morning when tiredness and their last bits of packing forced them to separate and head upstairs to their dormitories.

* * *

Please review.

I realize that many of you may be reading this on September 11th. I would like to extent my support and sympathy to anyone who was affected by those events. May we be as strong in standing together against intolerance and hatred as the characters in Harry's world.

I am also aware that this is the six-month anniversary of the tsunami and earthquake in Japan and offer my best wishes for their recovery.

_"We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided...differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open." - Albus Dumbledore_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Summer 1935

Author's Note: A extra special thank you to my beta lullabymoon who edited this after finishing a Big Bang entry. And thanks to my reviewers as well.

* * *

The latch clicked. Trunk locked, Minerva checked the drawers and cubbies of her nightstand and bureau, bent down to peer underneath the bed, and walked into the adjoining bathroom to ensure that she had not forgotten anything. The other girls performed the same ritual, crisscrossing the chamber and dodging out of each other's way. When they were finished, they gathered in the center of the room. Five trunks stood ready to be taken downstairs by the house-elves.

"That's it then," said Lucille. "We're all packed."

"The room looks so…so empty," remarked Cecilia, rotating in place to look about the chamber for the final time.

"Come on, it's time to go," Marian urged them gently. They collected their various handbags and valises, exiting the room one by one. The last to leave, Minerva paused briefly, taking in the barren room. The nightstands lacked the magazines, hairbrushes, books, and other miscellanea that had cluttered them every September to June for seven years. There were no bathrobes hanging on hooks next to each bed, no shoes scattered on the floor, and no stuffed animals, owned by Beth and Cecilia, on top of the duvets. The sunlight streaming in through the window landed in bright squares on the floor, illuminating only furniture and their trunks.

Minerva closed the door with a dull thud of wood on wood and the slightest creak of the hinges. The climb down the twisting staircase seemed shorter than it usually was. In the common room, they met with the seventh year boys and walked together down to the Great Hall. After breakfasting, Minerva and Edward went to the antechamber off the Great Hall. The prefects had arranged to meet there at eight.

At five minutes past eight, the twenty-two of them were assembled. Minerva and Malfoy stood at the front of the room.

"Before we leave, we have a few duties to complete," announced Malfoy. "The seventh years are responsible for checking the House dormitories and ensuring that all students have left. Sixth years will supervise the loading of the carriages of the students and of the luggage. Fifth years are responsible for watching over the fourth and younger years. When the train reaches King's Cross, sixth years will sweep the train for stragglers while seventh and fifth help with the disembarkation. Are these instructions clear?"

Nods answered him.

"Good," said Minerva. "Malfoy and I – "

The door opened. Heads turned as Dippet and Merrythought entered the room, coming to stand beside the Head Girl and Boy. Minerva glanced at them for direction.

"Go on, Miss McGonagall," said Dippet.

"As I was saying, Malfoy and I wanted to thank you for your work this year. Your efforts have been appreciated and recognized by ourselves, by the staff, and by the student body."

"I would like to second Miss McGonagall's sentiment," interjected the Headmaster. "And I would also like to express my gratitude to you and to Mr. Malfoy. You have been examples for the rest of the school. I am sure that your legacy will be carried on and honored by those who will follow you."

"Thank you, Professor," replied the Head Girl and Boy.

"Well, it's almost time," said Merrythought. "If you would be about your duties?" As the room emptied, Minerva caught Florence Cooper and David Haughton.

"Would you be willing to oversee the tutoring club?" she asked them.

"Of course," answered Cooper as Haughton nodded.

"Thank you. You both know most of how it works already, but I'll send you an owl with all the information over the summer."

"As long as you do that, I'm sure we'll be able to figure everything out," said Cooper. "Good luck, Minerva."

"And to you. Goodbye."

Minerva headed upstairs to Gryffindor Tower with Edward. After hurrying a few sluggish Gryffindors, they descended back to the Entrance Hall. When the younger years had departed in carriages, the seventh years claimed a pair for themselves.

As the carriage rattled off down the drive, Minerva kept her gaze fixed on the castle for as long as possible, watching as it grew smaller and eventually disappeared behind the trees. Only then did she turn away from the window.

"You're going to miss Hogwarts," Edward said softly.

"Of course I am," Minerva replied, "And so will you."

"It was good, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was."

On the train, the forty-odd seventh years claimed the second car, moving freely between compartments. Throughout the journey, they shared stories and memories and hopes for the future. Gradually though, as the train neared London, the Gryffindors settled together in a single compartment. A hush suffused the space; speech was rendered unnecessary and intrusive.

Seated next to the window, Minerva could feel the warm pressure from Edward, squeezed as the ten of them were into a one compartment. Walter sat beside Edward with Cecilia on his other side, her legs curled up onto the seat. Basil and John were on the floor, Basil with his back to Cecilia's seat and John cross-legged in the middle. On the bench opposite Minerva, Marian's head rested on Donald's shoulder with Lucille and Beth beside them.

The train rattled and churned away, sweeping them from the countryside into the outskirts of London and finally into London proper.

Minerva registered the deceleration of the train with regret, offering a handkerchief to Cecilia whose eyes had started to water when the cityscape replaced the fields. The Hogwarts Express slid to a rest at Platform 9 ¾ with a whine of the breaks and gush of steam. For a long moment, none of them moved, intent upon each other and blind to the cacophony outside their compartment door as the younger years prepared to disembark.

At Minerva's nudge, she and Edward left to see to the unloading. When Minerva had checked with the prefects that the train was empty, they descended to the platform. Their yearmates waited for them, congregated into a circle. Their respective parents lingered in the distance. Minerva and Edward stepped into the spots left for them.

"All done?" asked Marian.

"Yes," said Minerva.

"I suppose this is goodbye then," remarked Donald softly.

"For now," Lucille insisted, "We'll see each other again."

"We will," avowed Marian.

"And some of us will be working in the Ministry or somewhere else where we'll be likely to meet once in a while," said Walter.

"Besides we all know how to apparate and it isn't as if there isn't a Floo network or brooms or Portkeys. Or owls, for that matter," Edward reminded them. "We might have to work a bit harder at getting together, but it's worth it. We're friends after all."

"I know, but," Cecilia sniffed, "it just won't be the same. Chances are, what with ten of us, that getting together as a group will be difficult."

"Why don't we arrange to meet in the Leaky Cauldron on September 1st, every year?" suggested John.

"That's a good idea," said Edward. "I'm for it."

"So am I," Lucille chimed in. Everyone else agreed quickly.

The group began drifting towards the entrance to the Muggle world, parents trailing along behind them unobtrusively. As they walked, other students approached to say goodbye and, for the girls, to exchange a hug with the departing seventh years.

Passing through the gateway, the Gryffindors left, one by one with their parents, their farewells often tearful and always prolonged, reluctant to go. Lucille, Basil, Donald, Marian, Cecilia, John, Beth, and Walter departed, vanishing into the multitude of people. Finally, it was only Minerva, Edward, and his parents.

"Are you apparating?" inquired Mr. Potter.

"Yes."

"If you don't want to stay at your parents, you're welcome to come to us tonight, even if it's late," Mrs. Potter assured her. "Otherwise, we'll expect you tomorrow afternoon."

"No, I should be fine, Mrs. Potter. I'll arrive as planned. Thank you for allowing me to stay with you. I hope I won't be an inconvenience."

"Nonsense. We like having you with us," replied Mrs. Potter. "By the by, would you like us to take your trunk? It would be one less thing for you to manage."

"No, thank you. I have a few items from home to collect and the trunk has been enchanted to provide as much space as I might need."

"A Storage-Expansion Charm?" Mrs. Potter queried.

"Yes."

"That is truly one of the most useful charms I ever learned," she remarked. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to rest my feet for a minute. Dear, why don't we go sit over there?" Her husband took the hint and proffered his arm which his wife promptly accepted.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Minerva," Mr. Potter said. "We'll wait over there for you, Edward." The older couple strolled away to sit on a bench.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" asked Edward. "You could come home with us and go to your parents' tomorrow. Couldn't you tele-um-telephone your parents and say that you've decided to spend the night with us?"

"No, I need to go home and talk to them in person. I need this matter settled before I can move forward."

"Okay. Good luck."

"Thank you."

Edward smiled and went to join his parents. He waved and they strode off. Valise in hand and pushing the trunk on a cart for appearance's sake, Minerva found a private nook, concentrated on her foyer, and disappeared from King's Cross. The empty cart was left behind.

"Miss!" cried out Rose with a start as she materialized in the entryway of the house. The maid clutched her hands to her chest. "I didn't see you there. You nearly frightened me to death."

"I'm sorry, Rose."

"It's alright, Miss. I'll have your trunk taken up. And where's your hat and gloves, Miss?"

"I didn't wear them today. Would you find my mother and inform her of my arrival? And Father as well, I assume he is here?"

"Yes, miss. He drove back from Edinburgh this afternoon after spending most of the week there. Some problem with those foreign businessmen, I think, kept him in town since Tuesday," Rose told her. "Your brothers are home too, just came in earlier today in fact. Oh, and dinner is to be served at seven o'clock sharp."

"I suppose I ought to wash up and change as it's almost six fifteen now," Minerva replied.

"I'll go tell your parents that you're here," said Rose.

"Thank you." Rose bobbed and walked in direction of the conservatory while Minerva mounted the stairs to the second floor. Before entering her own room, she knocked on Fiona's door and called, "Fiona, it's Minerva."

When she received no reply, she continued on to her own bedroom. Minerva placed the valise on the desk. She turned to her closet to choose a blouse and skirt for dinner, laying them on the bed.

She scrubbed her face and hands in the bathroom before donning her dinner outfit. Her hair was taken down, brushed, and then pinned up again into a chignon. Glancing in mirror, Minerva tweaked a crease out of her blouse and tucked a loose strand of hair back with an additional hair pin. Satisfied, she left her room to go downstairs.

As she reached the ground floor, Rose came towards her.

"Your mother is in the conservatory with your sister, Miss, and would like you to join them. Your father is in the study, but does not want to be disturbed. He said that he would see you at dinner and the young masters are outside," she informed Minerva.

"Thank you, Rose. I haven't seen Mrs. Weaver yet. Is she about the house somewhere?"

"Madam gave her a couple of days free to see her new granddaughter. She'll be back on Monday."

"When was her granddaughter born?"

"Three weeks ago, Miss. Mrs. Weaver was there for the birth, but Madam needed her here after so she promised Mrs. Weaver the time off later."

"I'll have to be sure to send Gavin and Jane my congratulations and a gift for the baby."

"Minerva!" Fiona's cry sounded mere seconds before she rushed to wrap her arms around her sister. "You're home!" Smiling, Rose curtsied and slipped away to leave the sisters to their reunion.

"Yes, I'm home," said Minerva.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"I couldn't wait to see you any longer. Come on, Mother is in the conservatory." Minerva allowed Fiona to tug her along through to the conservatory. As they went, she was struck by how Fiona's figure had changed to one of a young woman's rather than a girl's and was accented by the blue dress her sister wore. The change must have been occurring over the past two or three years, but Minerva had never realized it as strongly as she did just then.

In two months, her sister would be fifteen years old. Nathaniel was sixteen already; she had sent him a selection of Honeydukes for his birthday in January. As for her older brother, Kenan would celebrate his twentieth birthday in a little more than a week. She herself would be eighteen in the autumn, an adult by the standards of both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds.

"Here's Minerva, Mother," declared Fiona when they entered the conservatory. Seated at the white garden table, Mrs. McGonagall looked up from a letter and laid it aside. She stood to embrace her daughter and then gestured for them to sit.

"Welcome home, Minerva. Did you have a nice term?"

"Yes, I did."

"That's good. I'm so glad you have finished that part of your education."

"That part, Mother?"

"Oh, don't worry about that right now, sweetheart. You've only just come home. Your Father and I will speak to you about it soon. Fiona, why don't you tell your sister about your studies?"

"I'm studying Romeo and Juliet at the moment. Have you read it?" asked Fiona with animation.

"I have."

"I think it's terribly romantic," said Fiona.

"To commit suicide because of poor communication and because they fancied themselves in love? Frankly, I don't find the idea in the least bit romantic, pitiable perhaps, but not romantic," said Minerva. "And I'm also afraid I don't quite believe in falling in love at first sight."

"Oh well, if you think of it so," replied Fiona. "I suppose it does seem a touch pitiable, but I don't think that's what the story is about. It's about being willing to die for love. And _that_ is certainly a romantic notion, surely even you can't disagree with. I would like to find someone who would love me enough to die for me. Naturally, I wouldn't actually want him to do so, but it's the thought that counts."

"I'm sure you'll find someone to love you as you deserve to be loved, Fiona" Minerva reassured her sister. "Whoever it is will be a very fortunate man to win your heart."

"You think so?" Fiona entreated softly.

"Of course, she does," interjected their mother. "You're beautiful and charming and a perfect angel, my dear. Any young man who doesn't fall madly in love with you is a fool." She patted Fiona's hand where it lay on the table. Fiona beamed at the praise.

The chiming of a clock prompted them to move into the dining room where the men of the family were waiting.

"Welcome home," said Nathaniel to her as they entered. Kenan gave her a tight smile while her father acknowledged her presence with a mere nod.

"Good evening, Father, Nathaniel, Kenan," replied Minerva, taking her seat.

Dinner progressed in its habitual silence until dessert, along with tea and coffee had been served. When Mr. McGonagall paused in his interrogation of his sons about their schooling, Minerva attracted his attention. "Father."

"Yes, Minerva, what is it?"

"I would like to speak to you and Mother after breakfast tomorrow," she declared.

"About what?"

"My future."

"Very well, we'll talk in my study directly after breakfast," he agreed. He returned his focus to the boys, questioning Nathaniel's marks in mathematics. Her mother, on the other hand, stared at her with a mixture of confusion and unease.

"Minerva, what precisely do you want to discuss about your future? I thought you understood our expectations."

"I do which is why we need to have this discussion. I need to clarify a few points." When her mother would have responded, Minerva stated, "I don't want to talk about it tonight, Mother, if you don't mind. It can wait for tomorrow."

"All right, sweetheart. We'll talk tomorrow," her mother acceded, but continued to peer at her oldest daughter until Fiona distracted her by asking when the next garden party was to be.

After dinner, Minerva retired to her room, unlocking and opening her trunk. From her closet and dresser, she removed items of everyday clothing, leaving the majority of the fancier and more formal outfits where they were as the rest was folded and packed. A couple of smart dresses were allowed space, one of forest green and the other of violet. Fortunately, her winter clothing, what of it she had not taken to Hogwarts, had been neglected, left in her room and not packed away in the attic. Minerva selected several articles including gloves, a couple of scarves, and outerwear. From her jewelry, she chose only a handful of pieces to set aside on the bed, preferring simplicity and elegance over size and sparkle. The remainder was laid on top of her desk; she would leave it to Fiona and her mother.

A few miscellaneous items were next to be placed on the coverlet: a picture of the four siblings seated in the conservatory, a horse figurine given to her by her maternal grandfather, bureau set consisting of mirror, brush and comb with brass filigree, a sampler with crooked stitches spelling out her name which had been one Fiona's earliest attempts at embroidery, and a small sack of marbles with which Nathaniel had taught her to play when he was six and Kenan had declared himself too old to play with his younger brother.

She loosened the tie, the marbles rolling into her palm, each a different swirl of colors with the shooter being a bright blue and cloudy white. Nathaniel had presented it to her as a supreme act of charity for a little boy, calling it his lucky shooter and then entrusting it to her.

One by one, she dropped the other marbles back into the bag. Holding the shooter with her index finger and thumb for a minute, she let it fall into her palm. She cupped and tilted her hand to guide large marble into the bag, yanking on the ends of the cords to close the bag.

Heading downstairs to the library, Minerva found the shelves devoted to her personal collection. The sensational novels, gifts of her mother, were left as were the couple of instructional books from her father on the proper ladylike deportment and behavior. The collection required three trips back and forth to her room, carrying a stack in her arms each time.

"Minerva?" Kenan caught her at the bottom of the stairs as she made the final trip. "What are you doing?"

"Taking these upstairs," she replied.

"Obviously. Why?"

"I'll explain tomorrow, Kenan."

"Would this have something to do with your upcoming conversation with our parents?"

"Yes."

"I gather that they will not be pleased with you?"

"In all probability, no, they won't."

She started climbing the stairs, but halted when Kenan sighed and said quietly, "At times you know, I envy you."

"Envy me? You're the favorite child in this family. You're the firstborn son," Minerva replied a little acerbically, unable to keep the upsurge of resentment from showing.

"I know…but that status is contingent upon my obedience and my acceptance of the life Father has dictated for me. If I tried to do something else…tried to be something else..." He shook his head. "You have the opportunity to create a life independent of all of that in your own world without these expectations weighing you down. I envy you that freedom."

"It comes at a price," Minerva reminded him. "I have to give up the Muggle world almost entirely." The words 'and my family' seemed to hang unsaid in the air. From the way Kenan bowed his head, she knew that he sensed the presence of those unspoken words too.

"Father and Mother…they won't be able to accept my decisions and will withdraw any support from me. You know that, you know they won't tolerate me flaunting their wishes, you know they'll - " She stopped herself, arms aching as the weight of the books pressed upon her.

"I suppose I'm simply not willing to pay the price," he said. "I hope you will be happy, Minerva, and satisfied in the life you're choosing, I honestly do."

"I believe I will be, and I hope you find a measure of contentment in yours."

"So do I," he replied. He extended a hand and, maneuvering a hand free, Minerva managed to grasp and shake it. "Good luck, Minerva."

"And to you," she answered.

Kenan continued on his way while Minerva went up the stairs to her room. Starting with the books, she began packing the items on her bed into the trunk. The jewelry and bureau set went into appropriate boxes first to protect them while an old hat box served well enough for the sampler, figurine, and photograph after each was wrapped in spare handkerchiefs and all of them insulated with a scarf. The marbles went in the hat box as well.

Nesting the hat book in the trunk, Minerva surveyed her room. Clothes for the night and the morrow remained out as did the necessary toiletries. She pushed the lid shut.

Hearing music, she walked downstairs to find Fiona at the piano. Fiona muttered to herself while she worked through a passage of a Brahms' composition. Not wanting to interrupt, Minerva settled on a nearby chaise.

"There, I have it," Fiona exclaimed when she finally made it through the section without a mistake. She faced Minerva and said, "I've had trouble with that part for days. It feels wonderful to play it right at last. Would you like to play something? We haven't played a duet together in far too long."

"All right, provided you choose one I already know. I'm a bit out of practice."

Fiona riffled through the music until she found a likely piece to hand to Minerva.

"Schubert's _Fantasia in F Minor_? We've played it several times before and we can play as much or as little of it as we want," suggested Fiona while Minerva skimmed the music.

"It will do. I'll be the Secondo." Minerva pronounced, leaning to place the music on the stand and then sitting beside Fiona on the piano bench. "I should warm up with few runs first."

"I'll wait," said Fiona with a smile. Her sister's fingers flitted over the keys, sounding cascading scales and gradually gaining in speed and precision. When Minerva finished, she flexed her hands and positioned them on the keyboard. Fiona opened the music, noted the temp, and set the metronome ticking on the piano top. The sisters tested out the beginning measures individually while absorbing the tempo.

"Ready?" asked Fiona. In reply, Minerva stopped the metronome.

"4/4 timing, I presume?" inquired the older sibling.

"4/4," Fiona said, "Although I think we should slow the tempo a bit to make it easier." Her index finger tapped out the tempo while her head bobbed.

Minerva counted with her, "One, two, three, four," and they started playing. Deeper tones sounded from Minerva's fingers while Fiona produced the lighter and frequently quicker notes in the treble cleft. During the first page of music, Minerva winced numerous times as she missed an accidental key change or didn't quite manage the sixteenth notes, but her errors decreased as they continued to play.

Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona caught the appearance of her sister's smile by the end of the third page. Her own smile broadened, seeing her sister swept up in the music, and her hands danced over the keys. As neither sister seemed inclined to pause, they played straight through the piece, filling the air with music for over fifteen minutes.

When they finished, Minerva curled and stretched her fingers to relieve the tension and twinges from disuse of her muscles in this fashion. Fiona, with a quick look about them, cracked her knuckles.

"Mother hates when I do this," she commented, cracking them a second time. "It's not very ladylike. Would you like to play something else?"

"I would."

"Anything in particular or should I surprise you?"

"Surprise me."

"Close your eyes then," directed Fiona. Minerva complied and heard rustling as her sister found the music she wanted and set it on the stand, opening it to the first page.

"You can open them," Fiona declared.

"A Chopin waltz? I don't believe I've played this one arranged for four hands."

"You've always liked Chopin so, when I saw this, I thought I might be able to convince you to play it with me."

"Of course I'll play it with you if you'll give me a moment to look it over first." Fiona waited patiently as Minerva flipped through the score, familiarizing herself with the notes and then listening to a tempo ticked out by the metronome for a bit.

"I think I manage a decent reading now," Minerva said finally, resting her fingers on the keys. A gentle flowing song soon sounded from the piano, Fiona swaying slightly with the music as she and her sister played.

As the last notes vibrated from the piano, clapping came from the doorway. The sisters turned to find Nathaniel applauding from where he stood leaning against the wall.

"That was nice," he said.

Fiona rose and curtsied, saying, "Thank you, kind sir."

"You're welcome, gracious lady," he replied with a bow. Fiona giggled. "I was actually sent to retrieve you by Mother. She said something about the invitations for the next garden party?"

"Yes, I promised to look over them with her. I'll come now." She brushed a hand over her dress and asked Minerva, "Are you planning to continue practicing or should we put the music away and close the piano?"

"I might play for a little while. Will you be long with Mother, Fiona?"

"No, she only wanted me to choose the final design and wording. After that, I will probably go straight to bed. Why do you ask?"

"I would like you and Nathaniel to come to my room after Father and Mother are abed. I need to talk to you about…well, about a number of things."

"What things?" enquired Nathaniel. "Would those be the same things you're planning to talk to our parents about tomorrow?"

"Yes, but I would rather speak with you and Fiona first and have the conversation be just between ourselves."

"I'll be there as soon as Mother and Father retire," declared Fiona.

"Me too," said Nathaniel. They walked off in direction of the dining room, Fiona trailing Nathaniel. Minerva returned her attention to the piano. She pressed a few keys at random, listening to the tones they produced and feeling the worn spots on the keys from years of steady use. Having selected a few favorite compositions, she started play them in succession. A wet nose brushed against her thigh as she started the last piece, Kerr's tail swishing on the carpet as he settled by her. She ended the piece, restacked the music neatly, and slid the lid over the keys.

"Come on, boy," she murmured as she stroked the collie's head. "Mother will have a fit if she catches you here." The collie followed her upstairs and into her room, looking at her for permission with the slightest whine. Minerva smiled and patted the bed, Kerr immediately taking the invitation and jumping up. Sitting propped up by pillows, Minerva petted the collie while her mind wandered. Muffled by the door, she soon heard the sounds of her parents going to bed.

At the knock on her door, she called, "Come in." Nathaniel and Fiona entered, Fiona sitting on the bed while Nathaniel perched on the footboard. Kerr licked Fiona's cheek as she scratched underneath his chin.

"What did you want to tell us, Minerva?" asked Fiona. Minerva slid off the bed and went to lean against the desk. Her siblings watched her intently.

"I thought you deserved to know, before our parents, that I've chosen to live in the Wizarding world from this point on."

"What does that mean?" queried Fiona, "What does 'live in the Wizarding world' mean?"

"It means she most certainly won't be attending that finishing school," Nathaniel said. He turned away from Minerva to Fiona. "It means she won't be part of our world anymore."

"What? I don't understand, Minerva. You're not leaving us," implored Fiona, reaching to grasp Minerva's hand. "You've been gone so much already."

"Nathaniel, Fiona, I will always be part of your world; I'm your sister and that will never change, but you're right in thinking that I won't be, I can't be, the type of sister and daughter which is expected of me. To live in the Muggle world, to be what Mother and Father want me to be, I would have to relinquish my magic and the entire Wizarding world. I can't do that."

Fiona tangled her fingers into Kerr's fur and lowered her gaze to the floor. Nathaniel straightened up and faced her squarely.

"What are you going to do then?" he asked.

"I've been selected to join the Aurors. They're the elite branch of the police force for Wizarding Britain."

"The police force?" gasped Fiona, mouth gaping and eyes flying up to her sister.

"Elite branch of – are they sort of wizard version of the CID?" asked Nathaniel

"I suppose that would be a fairly accurate comparison. The Aurors have similar duties and status to members of the Criminal Investigations Departments of the Muggle police force. Aurors are usually sent after the most dangerous and cunning criminals."

"Dangerous? Do you mean, murderers and such, people like that?" Fiona exclaimed. "But, but you're a woman and you, you could be hurt, surely they don't let women – "

"My sex has absolutely no effect on my ability to do the work, Fiona. The Wizarding world does not discriminate against women as the Muggle world does."

"But you could be hurt," her sister insisted, reaching out and wringing Minerva's hand with hers. "Murderers and thieves and heaven only knows what other kinds of monsters...it's not safe."

Minerva moved to sit beside her sister.

"Fiona, listen to me. I won't lie to you and say it is not dangerous and that I don't have some chance of being hurt. However, the Wizarding world is quite peaceful and violent crimes are very rare which is why one small department of Aurors is sufficient for the whole country."

Fiona continued to grip her hand tightly.

Minerva tried to be more reassuring. "Besides which, I will have the top instructor and I've been told by my professors that my powers are…well…substantially above average. I can't promise I won't be hurt, but I can promise I will do my best to avoid it. I won't be alone either, I'll have the backing of the Ministry, and I certainly won't be helpless."

"Promise?" whispered Fiona.

"I promise."

"Good," Nathaniel said, "that's good. When do you leave?"

"That depends on what happens tomorrow when I inform our parents of my decision."

"Father will never agree," stated Nathaniel. "And Mother will refuse to believe it and try to persuade you to let them make you into a proper _lady_."

"I know which is why I may be forced to leave. Father may not allow me to stay here if I'm blatantly refusing to obey him."

"Mother won't allow – " started Fiona.

"She won't be able to sway Father," Nathaniel said sharply.

"But – where will you go?" asked Fiona, wrapping an arm about Minerva's waist.

"I've rented a flat in London. As I can't move in until the fifteenth, the Potters have been kind enough to allow me to stay with them until then. You will always be welcome to visit me in London, if Mother takes you there for some reason, and I'll send you the mailing address to use if you want to write," Minerva assured her younger sister, trying to soothe her. "Actually, I would be upset if you don't write to me at least once or twice a month. I will write to you and to you, Nathaniel, as often as I can."

"We'll write," Nathaniel declared. Fiona nodded against Minerva's shoulder.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" she murmured. "Like when I was little and scared of thunderstorms and you let me sleep with you. You always told me not to be afraid, and then you would tell me stories."

"Of course, why don't you go get ready for bed?" Fiona slid off the bed and went into her room through the connecting bathroom.

"Will you be able to visit? Here or could you come and see me in Edinburgh after school starts?" asked Nathaniel.

"I may be able to visit you at school, but the training program is quite rigorous. I can't promise anything, but I will try."

Nathaniel nodded and slid down off the footboard. "Will you go for a walk with me tomorrow, before breakfast? Or a ride?"

"A ride, I think, although it will have to be short."

"Eight o'clock?"

"I'll meet you at the stables."

"I'm for bed then. Goodnight, Minerva."

"Goodnight, Nathaniel," she replied.

He called out towards the door to Fiona's room, "Goodnight, Fiona." The door promptly opened and Fiona came in, dressed in a nightgown.

"Goodnight," said Fiona. When Nathaniel had left, Minerva changed and brushed her teeth and hair in the bathroom. She came back to find Fiona already beneath the covers, Kerr having been encouraged to move to the foot of the bed. Minerva turned off the lights and slipped into the bed. Fiona shifted to face her sister, propping herself up on an elbow.

"Minerva?"

"What is it?"

"This life that you've chosen…you can't be…don't you want a husband and a family like I do, like Mother has? Don't you want to be good wife and mother, to have children and a home?" questioned Fiona. "Being a police officer…"

"Isn't a woman's job?" Minerva said softly. "Do you mean that a woman's place is in the home?"

"Mother seems happy with it and I know I don't want the life you're choosing, that is to say…I want to marry a nice man and raise my children and keep a pleasant house. I can't imagine wanting anything else, especially anything that prevent me from being a good wife and mother."

"It's not enough for me, that domestic life which satisfies you and Mother. It doesn't mean that raising a family in a good home is unimportant, merely that you and I have different aspirations for our futures." Minerva sighed and continued, "Leaving the Muggle world and becoming an Auror are decisions I've made for the future I want, a life which suits me. I would also argue that neither of those choices precludes me from marrying or from having a family of my own if I decide, at some point, that I want those things."

"But you don't want those things now?"

"No, I don't. Perhaps someday, but my plans do not depend upon finding a husband and starting a family."

"And mine do," Fiona said. She lay down completely and closed her eyes.

After a few minutes of silence, she whispered, "Minerva?"

"Yes?"

"You _will_ be careful?"

"I will."

"And you promise not to forget me…and Nathaniel and Kenan and Mother and Father and everyone else here when you go to live in your world."

"All of you are my family, Fiona, and you're my only sister. Nothing will ever change that. I promise I won't forget you or our brothers or our parents."

"You're my only sister too. I don't want to lose you."

"You are _not_ going to lose me," Minerva declared. She tucked the blankets a bit closer around Fiona. "Now, try to sleep please."

"I'll try. Goodnight, Minerva," murmured Fiona, burrowing her head into her pillow. At their feet, Kerr wiggled until he was stretched out with Minerva's legs to one side and Fiona's on the other.

"Goodnight, Fiona," she replied. Fiona drifted off quickly, but Minerva stayed awake for a while longer, staring at the curtained window and thinking about the coming morning. Eventually though, she managed to silence her thoughts and fall asleep.

* * *

If you enjoyed the chapter, please take a moment to review. There is nothing better than finding a review in your inbox after a long day in the lab.


	16. Chapter 16

Queen of Swords: Chapter 16

Author's Note: First of all, I would like to say I'm terribly sorry to my readers. Real life became very busy and I haven't had time to attend to this story. Furthermore, it looks like the 2-week update schedule will no longer be possible. I'm going to do the best I can to be timely, but my workload is probably not going to decrease significantly in the foreseeable future.

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me despite my delays. And thank you to lullabymoon, my beta who is working to get me back on track.

* * *

Minerva finished dressing for breakfast, a black skirt and green blouse with her hair pinned into a knot at the nape of her neck. She collected her discarded riding gear and set it aside to be cleaned. A few dots of mud decorated the boots and skirt from racing Nathaniel back to the house. Nathaniel had won. Afterwards, they had lingered in the stables, Minerva stroking her mare's forehead and feeding her a carrot and sugar cubes. When Nathaniel reminded her of the time, Minerva had given the horse a last rub and said goodbye in a low voice. The siblings had then returned to change into appropriate attire, having to dash up the stairs to be ready by ten o'clock for breakfast.

Throughout breakfast, Minerva noticed glances being directed her way from everyone except her father. Her mother pressed her for second servings and chattered about garden parties and picnics for which they had received invitations or were planning to host. Per usual, Mr. McGonagall focused his entire attention on his newspaper until the plates were cleared. Then he folded his newspaper, stood up, and looked at his eldest daughter.

"Minerva, my study. We will have that discussion now. Patricia," he didn't need to say anything more as he strode out of the room. The two women rose to follow. Nathaniel mouthed 'good luck' to his sister when she passed by him. Minerva gave a small, tight smile and nod in return.

Minerva tugged the study door closed behind her. It shut with a soft thud. While her father had seated himself behind his desk, her mother had chosen to sit in front of the window and was fiddling with a handkerchief. Minerva decided to remain standing, resting her hands on the low back of the empty chair in front of the desk.

"You wished to discuss your future," stated Mr. McGonagall. "Very well. I have settled on The Young Ladies' Seminary in Aberdeen as an appropriate finishing school. It has an excellent reputation and provides the right environment for a young woman of your station. The Headmistress has agreed to accept you, although by all rights, you should have started last year. Term begins in September and I expect you will spend one year, perhaps two if I believe it necessary, there learning how to behave as a proper lady. When we are satisfied that your education is complete, you will be presented to society and – "

"Father." He stopped, staring at her audacity to interrupt him. Before he could continue, she declared, "I will not be attending The Young Ladies' Seminary or any other finishing school."

"Excuse me?" he snapped, "You do not have any choice – "

"I have already made a decision as to what I wish to do with my future," asserted Minerva. "I have accepted a position within the Ministry of Magic. My training begins in two weeks."

Her father gaped at her, speechless, but her mother managed to say, "Minerva, surely, you must be joking. A finishing school will ensure you have the right accomplishments for a lady and teach you what you need to know to be successful in society. If you object to the Seminary, there are other schools…we could find one more agreeable, but you cannot really be thinking of, of not going, and what is this about a position in the Ministry of Magic?"

"I'm not joking, Mother. My mind is quite made up and the paperwork has already been signed. I'm committed."

"Then you will have to inform them that there has been some kind of mistake," ordered her father, regaining his voice at a greater volume than before.

"I will do no such thing."

"I'm your father and I know what's best for you – finishing school where you will learn to act according to your station and to forget about this…this other world of yours. It's time you began behaving like a respectable, genteel woman, in her proper place, and not a…a…a – "

"A witch? Is that what you mean to say, Father?"

"Yes. This has gone on quite long enough. I permitted you to attend that school on the understanding that you would learn to control your _powers_," he nearly spat the final word out. "Now that you're finished, you can keep them hidden and conduct yourself as – "

"As normal," cried out Minerva, " which means conforming to your idea of who I should be – a subservient female who keeps house and bears children and is satisfied in always being governed by a man, whether it be her husband or her father?"

"A woman's place is in the home!" he shouted, propelling himself to a standing position.

"No, I don't believe that. Maybe it's enough for some women, but not for me, Father, not when there's a world which doesn't hold such prejudices and bigotry. Yet even if I weren't a witch, I couldn't do it, couldn't limit myself to those walls in which you would confine me. I won't be caged."

"You can't – I refuse to allow – "

"You have no authority over me. Not anymore!"

"I'm your father!"

"That fact changes nothing."

"Dear, maybe if we give her a chance to explain?" interjected Mrs. McGonagall, coming to stand by her husband and placing a placating hand on his arm. At his glare, she withdrew it quickly, but he sat down with a jerk at his jacket. Turning to Minerva, she asked, "What do you plan to do, Minerva, at this Ministry of Magic. What position are you speaking about?"

"It's with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Law Enforcement?" her father gritted out. "What would_you_ be doing in the law enforcement?"

"I'll be joining the Aurors."

"The Aurors?" repeated her mother. "What are the Aurors?"

"The closest Muggle equivalent would probably be the Criminal Investigation Department of the Muggle police force. Aurors handle the worst cases, the ones that require specialized knowledge and skill to solve and to apprehend the criminals involved." To her astonishment, her father laughed, shaking his head. "Excuse me, Father, I fail to understand why that is funny?"

"You simply cannot be serious, Minerva. No police force would let a woman be a member," he declared, almost relaxing in his chair. He sneered at her. "Now tell us the truth."

"I am perfectly serious, Father, and I am telling the truth." He regarded her, still with the sneer and unconvinced.

She continued, "Unlike you and the rest of the Muggle world, my world does not discriminate based upon gender. The Aurors include both men and women as does the other departments of the Ministry. The Ministry doesn't care whether I'm male or female, only that I can fulfill the requirements of the job."

"They're mad then. Women have no business in a man's world," proclaimed her father, his posture and facial features stiffening again as he started to realize she was not joking.

"Sweetheart, you can't mean it – surely, you can't mean it –" Mrs. McGonagall stuttered, wringing the handkerchief in her hand. "It isn't proper – what kind of woman would –"

"As I've already said, I have committed myself to this," Minerva stated coolly. Her mother sank into a chair, looking from her husband to her daughter with a bewildered expression. "I will be an Auror."

"You will do no such thing," boomed Mr. McGonagall, shooting up out of his seat again. Minerva's steady gaze challenged him without saying a word. "You will give up this ridiculous notion and you _will_ be attending the Young Ladies' Seminary in September. In fact, I'm of a mind to confine you to the manor for the summer and bring in a governess to reteach you how to behave as a lady since you have obviously forgotten."

"You'd be wasting your money. I will not be changing my mind." She didn't falter, didn't show any sign of being intimidated by him. A clenched jaw and tightened lips betrayed her state of emotions, but her expression remained otherwise stanchly composed. "And any attempt at confining me would be futile in any case."

"You are my daughter and you will do as I say," he roared.

"You have no right to order me about, Father."

"What?"

"I'm of age by Wizarding standards, an adult."

"Not in this world, you aren't," he retorted. "Until you are twenty-one, I have the right to decide what is best for you and to see that you do it, whether you agree or not. If I believe you should attend the Seminary, you will attend the Seminary regardless of your childish rebelliousness."

"How exactly do you intend to force my compliance? In the eyes of the laws of _my_ world, I am legally an adult and not subject to you. If you try to force me, I will appeal to the Ministry of Magic. They would never allow one of their citizen's rights to be violated by a Muggle."

He spluttered, unable to form a coherent sentence with which to counter this pronouncement.

"Minerva, darling, please listen to your father," pleaded Mrs. McGonagall. "We only want what's best –"

"What's best for me, yes, that has been mentioned," Minerva cut her off. "I ask you, Mother, how could you or Father hope to understand what is best for me if you have no conception of who and what I am. The sole reason you permitted me to attend Hogwarts was because you believed I would learn how to suppress my gift and would return to you as a normal daughter."

"Don't you want to be normal, Minerva? Be as myself or your sister? To be introduced into good society, meet and marry a suitable man, raise a family, maintain a household and a position in society...Don't you want those things?"

"No, Mother," said Minerva rather gently. "You want those things for me, you and Father. I don't."

"But – "

"How could I confine myself to that life, Mother? To a life of planning dinner parties, following the latest fashions, attending the right parties with the right people, and concerning myself only with the household sphere? My gift alone would be impossible to give up, but you know it is not all that I would have to abandon or bury. I would be frowned upon, even ostracized, if I attempted to further my education or to have an occupation, especially any sort of occupation which is not an extension of the roles of wife and mother. I would be expected to defer to my husband on all matters and to exist merely as an extension of him, not as a full person with her own ideas and aspirations."

Minerva shook her head and stated firmly, "I would never be an equal. I would never be able to be myself, to be the best possible version of myself who has developed and used all of her gifts to their complete extent, not pretending those gifts don't exist to fit in with your perception of normalcy."

"Then you've lied to us these past seven years," her father interjected, vein throbbing on his forehead. "We believed you would cease this nonsense if we let you go to that school and – "

"No," Minerva interrupted him, "I never lied to you. I merely allowed you to continue under your own delusion. Would you have permitted me to continue to attend Hogwarts if you had known I had no intention of cooperating with your plans for my future when I finished?"

"Absolutely not!"

"I thought so and therefore, I let you think what you wished. As of this past October, it was too late for you to interfere." His jaw clenched shut and he finally came around the desk to loom over his daughter. Despite his height advantage of several inches, Minerva didn't retreat. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow as if asking whether he truly believed his intimidation tactic would work.

"You refuse to obey my instructions?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"You insist upon acting contrary to my biding?"

"Yes."

"Then I will no longer consider you my daughter and I want you to leave this house."

"No, Donald, please," gasped Mrs. McGonagall, handkerchief pressed to her lips.

"Be quiet, Patricia," he ordered without turning around. "Well, what's it to be?"

Remaining collected, Minerva replied, "Very well, Father. I expected this response for you and made the necessary preparations. The Potters have graciously offered me a room until I can move into a flat in London which I've already rented. I'll just gather my things and say my goodbyes, shall I?"

"You shall. Now, get out of my study." He walked back around the desk, sat down, and picked up an envelope from the small stack on the desk. In shock, her mother simply stared at him. "Both of you. Out!"

As he ripped the seam open with a violent slash of the letter opener, Minerva turned smartly on her heel and walked out of the room. Her mother hesitated a moment before following. She caught up with Minerva near the front stairs.

"Minerva," she called. The young woman halted.

"Can we please discuss this, sweetheart?" Mrs. McGonagall pleaded. "Surely we can find a compromise to this?"

"What sort of compromise, Mother?"

"I understand that you don't wish to attend a finishing school and that you want to be a part of the Wizarding world. I may be able to persuade your father to accept those conditions if you relinquish this notion of becoming an – an –what did you call it?"

"An Auror."

"What a strange name... oh, that's not important. Sweetheart, your father may accept it if you choose a more appropriate occupation – nursing or teaching perhaps. Provided of course that you fulfill your obligations to your family as well."

"Obligations? I assume you mean mixing in polite society and marrying properly?"

"Yes, I do sweetheart."

"When I marry, would I be expected to give up my magic, and any occupation in which I might be working, and attend to my husband and family?"

"Why, naturally yes, you would."

"I'm sorry, Mother, but what you're proposing is unacceptable to me. Your compromise only postpones the day when I have to surrender an essential part of myself. I have made my decision. Nothing you or Father can say will sway me. You can choose to either accept my choices or not." Her mother swallowed visibly, unable to meet her daughter's gaze.

"You'll be staying with the Potters?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes, for a short while until I can move into my flat."

"How do have you the money for a flat?"

"The Ministry provides an adequate stipend until I begin training and am officially on the payroll."

"Where is it?"

"The flat?"

"Yes."

"It's within walking distance to the Ministry of Magic and Diagon Alley as well as the Potters' townhouse in London. I'll leave the address on my desk. Would you find Nathaniel, Fiona, and Kenan for me please? I'd like to say a proper goodbye."

"Rose!" her mother called out, almost an unladylike shout. The maid appeared from the parlor with a duster in hand.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Please find my other children and ask them to come here immediately. They might still be in the dining room."

"Right away, ma'am." Minerva looked at her mother curiously and then glanced towards the study.

"I need to collect my things, Mother."

"I'll help," Mrs. McGonagall replied. With a slight nod, Minerva led them upstairs to her room.

"There's not much left to pack," she admitted. "There are a few toilette items in the bathroom and these clothes here." She pointed to a neat pile on a chair.

"Where is your horse statue, the one my father gave to you? And Fiona's sampler, you always kept it on the bureau?" her mother asked.

"Packed already," Minerva stated. She unlocked the trunk and starts to lay the last few things into it. Her mother stood at the door, staring in silence. Opening the desk drawer, she put an unsealed envelope on the table and slipped a small object into her pocket.

Finally her mother said softly, "You expected this…you expected us…" Her hands were clenched together and her brown eyes glistened in the bright summer sun which streamed through the window.

Minerva finished her task and closed the lid of the trunk with the slightest creak of wood and metal. She sat atop it. Her gaze lingered on the fleur-de-lis wallpaper as she responded.

"Yes, I did. I…I had _hoped_ that maybe it wouldn't come to this, that I wouldn't be forced to leave this way…I would probably have to move to London regardless for my job…but, yes – " She turned to face her mother.

"Yes, Mother, I expected Father to react as he did and for you..."

"For me? Sweetheart, what did you expect of me?" she implored.

"I expected you not to support me. I expected that you would not understand my decision and that you would try to talk me into agreeing with some sort of compromise which would only satisfy yourself and Father, not me."

Her mother gasped, a quiet desperate sound, and Minerva quickly continued, "I realize you have different notions of who I should be which are based upon how you were raised and what you were brought up to believe. I can't live my life according to those precepts and rules. I know my choices seem absurd to you, and I understand how you might view them as such, but I wish – I wish you could accept me as I am and support me."

"Minerva, I –" began her mother, but Minerva reached out to grasp her hands.

"Mother, please. I understand. I won't pretend that I'm not hurt and, angry, but I understand." Minerva released her hands, standing and then bending to lock the trunk. "And I don't want – I don't want to talk about it anymore or I'll…I'll say or do something I'll regret later. Please, Mother, don't drag this out for both our sakes."

"Ma'am?" came from the doorway behind Mrs. McGonagall. Rose stood there, her eyes wide. "The young masters and mistress are waiting downstairs."

"Thank you, Rose. Find Will and have him bring Minerva's trunk down, please," her employer managed.

"Ma'am?"

"Now, please."

"Yes, ma'am." Rose bustled off.

"Is there anything I could say to change your mind, Minerva? Anything at all, sweetheart?"

"Can you accept my occupation as an Auror and my refusal to conform to the rules and expectations of your society?" Her mother didn't reply. Minerva sighed heavily. "I thought not. Then, no, Mother."

They remained in place for a long moment until Will appeared to take the trunk. The women followed him down the stairs. Fiona gave a little cry at the sight of the trunk and bit her lip. Despite that, Minerva could see the tears forming in her eyes. Rushing forward, Fiona wrapped her arms around her sister, burying her head in Minerva's shoulder. Minerva rubbed her back in a circular motion until Fiona managed to calm herself and step away a pace.

"You're going," stated Nathaniel. Minerva simply nodded. A bit awkwardly, he stepped forward and embraced her too. "Good luck."

"Thank you. I've left the address of the flat on my desk and I'll send a note with Circe to you as soon as I arrive at the Potters."

"I was wondering where she was," said Fiona softly, meaning the owl.

"I sent her to the Potters from Hogwarts. If I don't come to them today, Edward would have written to me here and used her."

"Oh."

"Fiona, along with my address, I've left a message or two for the staff on my desk. Would you see that they receive them? In particular, there's one for Mrs. Weaver - since she's not here..."

"I'll make sure they get them."

"Thank you."

Kenan, who had kept back, came forward and offered his hand to his sister.

"I wish you well, Minerva," he pronounced as they shook.

"The same to you, Kenan." He nodded and stuck his hands into his pockets, retreating a couple of steps.

A sudden rewinding of arms about her caused Minerva to focus on her younger sister and return the embrace.

"Don't go," Fiona whispered.

"I have to." The arms of both tightened, then with a deep breath, Fiona relinquished her hold.

"Please be safe and don't stay away for too long," she beseeched Minerva.

"I'll do my best." Throughout this, her mother had remained quiet, handkerchief fraying in her hands and her eyes darting from one child to another.

"Minerva," she finally said in a low voice. "Please…"

"I have to go, Mother. I have to do what's best for me." At this proclamation, Minerva saw a couple of tears escape her mother's eyes. "I'll only be in London, Mother. You could visit and, when Father isn't here and when I have time off, I can visit you here. The distance is no matter for me. You merely have to inform me when that would be."

"I will…I will do that," she replied, dabbing at her face. "Have you got everything?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Mrs. McGonagall reached out to touch a loose strand of Minerva's hair. She tucked it back behind Minerva's ear carefully.

"You were always…always _different_, Minerva, but please don't think that I love you any less because of it," she said. "You're my daughter…and I couldn't bear it if you thought I…if you thought I did."

"I don't, Mother." After a moment, Minerva leaned over to kiss her mother's cheek briefly. "I should be going before Father comes out and finds me still here. I don't want to provoke another scene or to prolong this unnecessarily."

She walked towards Will and to Rose who had been watching the entire time, albeit discreetly from several feet away. From her pocket she withdrew a necklace with ruby colored glass beads and pressed it into Rose's palm.

"I can't, Miss – " Rose started.

"I want you to have it, Rose. You've helped to take care of me for many years and I know you've always liked this piece. I'm sure you'll enjoy wearing it more than I ever have." Minerva curled Rose's fingers around the necklace.

"Thank you, Miss. I'll think of you when I wear it."

"Goodbye, Rose. Goodbye, Will," Minerva said turning to Will and shaking his hand.

"Goodbye, Miss," he replied and was echoed by Rose. Minerva turned to her family, approaching each member in turn.

One by one, her siblings and mother said their goodbyes. Nathaniel's and Kenan's were reasonably steady while Fiona's could barely be heard and Mrs. McGonagall's voice broke. Minerva accepted a last hug from her sister, a handshake from Nathaniel, and a solemn nod from Kenan. She moved to stand beside her trunk. Casting a last glance in direction of the study, she gripped the handle of the trunk.

Nathaniel and Fiona lifted their hands to wave and, as they did so, Minerva took a step forward, twisted, and disappeared.

"Are you and Father satisfied now?" demanded Fiona of her mother. With a muffled sob, she dashed past her mother and up the stairs.

"Fiona," Mrs. McGonagall called, moving to pursue her.

"I'll go, Mother," said Nathaniel firmly. "I don't think she wants to speak with you at the moment. And truthfully, neither do I." As he followed Fiona, Mrs. McGonagall turned to her eldest child with a hurt and bewildered expression.

"Give them some time, Mother," Kenan instructed. "I think I'll go for a walk myself. Don't wait for me if I'm not back at lunch." He strode by her and out the front door.

Left alone, she muttered, "I only wanted what was best for her. Why couldn't she understand that?"

Sniffling and wringing her hands, she made for the conservatory where she collapsed into a chair. She murmured, "I don't understand. How could she do this to herself? To us? Where did I go wrong?"

* * *

The garden space in front of the Potters' townhome materialized around Minerva, the thick greenery concealing the area from the accidental peek of any passerby. Some of the plants sprouted summer flowers of white and yellow and pink. She checked to make sure her trunk had arrived safely as well.

"Hello there, Minerva," came from the open door. Edward, dressed in comfortably casual robes of a grayish green, hurried down the three steps and crossed the few yards between them. "I heard the chime and thought it had to be you."

"Hello, Edward. Hello, Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter," she said, speaking to his parents who had appeared in the doorway. His mother's quarter sleeve robes were of honey yellow while his father wore ones of blue, albeit a bit worn.

"Good morning, Minerva, please allow me to take care of that," his father offered, coming forward. "Abigail has made up your room."

"Thank you," Minerva managed a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Well, do come on in," invited Edward's mother, beckoning them inside as Mr. Potter levitated the trunk. He followed the other three inside and then upstairs to Minerva's guest room.

"Is your family well?" asked Mrs. Potter as they walked.

"Yes, quite well," Minerva replied stiltedly. Mrs. Potter caught the pained expression that crossed the young witch's face as she spoke.

"That's good," Mrs. Potter said, her mien making it clear that she had little actual interest in Minerva's family's health. Switching to a warmer tone and welcoming smile, she declared, "We're very glad you could spend some time with us, Minerva. I've aired out your room and made sure there are fresh linens in your bathroom. Are you hungry? I have some nice scones if you are feeling peckish?"

"No, thank you." They had reached her room and Mr. Potter deposited the trunk on the floor with a gentle thump.

"I'll leave to you to get settled. If you need anything…"

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter."

"Edward and I were thinking of taking in a Quidditch game next Saturday," said Mr. Potter. "I helped unravel a particularly nasty bit of legal code for a friend in the Department of Magical Games and Sports and he offered me tickets."

"It's Puddlemere against the Ballycastle Bats, not the Arrows unfortunately," Edward added. "Should still be worth seeing though. Would you like to go?"

"I would."

"I'll tell him three tickets when I see him on Monday." With that, the older couple left the room. Minerva busied herself with unpacking enough to see her through the next week or so before she would be moving into the flat. Edward watched her from his seat on the bed. A yip at the door prompted him to get up and let Uric into the room; the Crup bumped Minerva's shin and she bent down to scratch behind his ears.

"What did your parents say? When you told them?" Edward prodded, leaning against the wall.

"They disapproved of all of it, just as I thought they would. My father made it very plain that…that I wasn't welcome in his home anymore." Jamming a set of proper witch's robes onto a hanger, Minerva said rather curtly, "I'd rather not talk about it. Not now at least."

"All right," he agreed. "I'll leave you to finish unpacking?"

"Yes, that would be good."

"What would you like to do this afternoon?"

"I think I'll take a walk. I need to get out. I need to move."

"Mind if I come along?"

Minerva paused, hands in buried in her trunk, and after a moment said, "No, no. I don't mind."

He pushed himself off the wall and replied, "Come find me downstairs when you're ready to go then. Diagon Alley or the Muggle world?"

"Both I think."

"I'll change into Muggle things," he said. Whistling to Uric, who had been investigating the wardrobe with audible sniffs, Edward left her to it. Minerva finished unpacking, collected Edward, and informed his parents of their intentions. They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around their part of London with Edward doing his best to distract her. They walked until evening had fallen and their legs ached before returning to the townhome.

* * *

Minerva was profoundly grateful to Mrs. Potter on moving day. She accompanied Minerva, with Edward along to help cart and carry, to outfit the flat. Although it came furnished, the myriad necessities for the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and tiny sitting room were selected with her assistance from a combination of Muggle and Wizarding stores.

The flat itself was quite reasonable – a single bedroom with a joined kitchenette and living area, located on the first floor of the building. Small enough to warrant the word 'cozy', it had enough space not to seem cramped. The proprietress, one Mrs. June Brummell, had inherited the building from a Muggle relation and had since let out the four flats to young witches and wizards such as Minerva. When she met them to give Minerva the key, she promised to introduce her to the other tenants later.

"Thank you, Mrs. Brummell," replied Minerva.

"Please call me June, everyone does," said the older witch, a brunette in her early forties in a printed flowered dress.

"Is magic permitted within the building?" asked Mrs. Potter.

"Certainly, as long as you're careful about it and don't attract the Muggles' attention. I only rent to Wizarding tenants and I had a couple of broad Notice-Me-Not spells cast. Apparition and Portkeys will work in the entryway and as does the fireplace although you'll have to have your own Floo powder." she explained. "Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you," said Minerva.

"If you do need something, don't hesitate to owl me or firecall me. I do hope you like it here," she said and bustled off in a flurry of magenta robes.

By the end of the day, the three workers had arranged the flat to Minerva's and Mrs. Potter's satisfaction. The neutral colored furniture had been complemented by linens and rugs of varying shades of blue and green. The kitchen was stocked with edibles and a couple of dishes from Mrs. Potter which Minerva would only have to charm warm, and the rest of the apartment was in order. Minerva returned to spend the night with the Potters before taking up residence in the flat the following morning.


	17. Chapter 17

Queen of Swords: Chapter 17

Author's Note: I'm so very sorry for the long hiatus. School went crazy and I've been trying to research in order to plot out a plan for the next decade or so of Minerva's life.

As you'll note, I'm trying something new with this chapter. Please let me know what you think about it.

Betaed by the lovely lullabymoon who has been good enough to stick with me.

* * *

Selection from_ The Times_, July 25, 1935 – "Ex-Service Men Home from Germany: Desire for Mutual Understanding"

_"The British Legion delegation which has spent 10 days in Germany at the invitation of the ex-Service organizations in that country returned to London yesterday. They were greatly impressed with the warmth of their welcome, and declared that one of their outstanding impressions was that in Germany there is a genuine desire on all sides for better understanding and friendship with this country._

_ 'The Germans and we ourselves hope that ex-Service men, not only in Britain and Germany but also in France, will work together in the cause of peace,' said Major Fetherston-Godley, chairman of the British Legion and a member of the delegation. He added that they had had a very full programme and had seen everything they wanted to see. He discounted the reports of "incidents" during their tour, and said that minor matters had been exaggerated. For instance the official Stahlhelm luncheon in Berlin was cancelled at his own request because they had so much to do. An alternative to the cancelled luncheon was an official dinner two nights later._

_ Referring to Saturday's incident at Munich, when the delegation declined to lay a wreath on the Nazi memorial, Major Fetherston-Godley said that he was not at all sure that is was not largely the delegation's own fault. Before they left for Germany they knew they had to lay two wreaths on memorials, but they did not realize that one of them was a political memorial until shortly before the ceremony. 'When we discovered that is actually a Nazi memorial, we got in touch with our headquarters and we were backed up in our refusal to take part in the ceremony,' he added. 'The matter closed and there is no ill-feeling on either side.'"_

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Minerva accustomed herself to living alone although Edward stopped by practically every day. The pair spent some time preparing for their first day at the Ministry. This included buying appropriate attire in Diagon Alley, a torture which Edward tolerated only for the sake of one of Fortescue's ice cream concoctions with plenty of chocolate and sprinkles. Minerva walked the route to and from the Ministry and reread the materials given to her by Fitzwater when they had met after her acceptance of the position. On Saturday, they attended the Quidditch match and on Sunday, the Potters insisted that Minerva have dinner with them.

Dressed in a new set of navy robes, Minerva apparated into the Atrium at 7:30 on Monday morning. Presenting her wand, she passed through the golden gates and took a lift to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When she entered the Auror Department, she walked over to and knocked on Fitzwater's office door.

"Come in," came from within. Minerva stepped inside.

"Miss McGonagall," said Fitzwater, rising and coming around his desk with his hand outstretched, "Allow me to welcome you officially to the Auror Department."

As they shook, she replied, "Thank you, sir."

"Please, have a seat. When Mr. Hamilton arrives, I will escort both of you down to the Internal Ministry Affairs Bureau to complete the necessary paperwork as well as to receive your credentials. After that, I'll introduce you to the rest of the Aurors and show you to your desks. You'll meet Hawkins at that time. Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir."

Fitzwater nodded and sat down. He passed her a bound handbook, purple with the emblems of the Ministry of Magical and of the Auror Department impressed in gold on the cover.

"This is yours. It contains information on every aspect of the Aurors and on the workings of the Ministry itself including contacts in the other Departments and detailed outlines on procedures, rules, regulations, organization, cooperation between Departments, etcetera. Do not misplace it."

"Yes, sir."

"There will be a mandatory session for all new Ministry employees– " A knock interrupted him. "Enter."

"Good morning, Mr. Fitzwater," said John Hamilton as he came in.

Turning to his former housemate, he teased her good-naturedly, "Hello, Minerva. I should have known you would be here first."

"Good morning, Mr. Hamilton."

"Good morning, John."

Hamilton shook John's hand over the desk and gestured him to the seat beside Minerva. He then gave John the second copy of the handbook which had been lying on the desk.

"This is yours. As I explained to Miss McGonagall, this book contains any information you might need on Ministry organization and procedure. I expect it to be studied carefully and the relevant parts committed to memory as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"Tomorrow morning, the pair of you will be required to attend an orientation meeting with all other new Ministry workers. It will last from eight in the morning until noon. Now, I'll take you to the Affairs Bureau." He stood, led them out of the Aurors' offices, and down the hall to another set of offices.

"Good morning, sir," said a witch behind one of the desks.

"Good morning, Ida. This is Minerva McGonagall and John Hamilton. I spoke to you about them on Friday." To John and Minerva, he said, "This is Ida Wallis. She'll get you what you need to be formally registered and recognized as Aurors-in-training."

"Pleased to meet you," said Ida as she shook hands with the pair.

"I'll leave you in Miss Wallis' capable hands. When you're finished, see me in my office," Fitzwater instructed Minerva and John before exiting. Ida escorted them to an inner room, stopping to collect a file folder and a couple of boxes from her desk. Setting the items on the table, she motioned for them to be seated.

"First, you need to sign these contracts one last time. You've already done so before, but those signatures were only probationary, " she said, putting papers in front of each and pushing quills and ink towards them. "This time, your signature will constitute a binding contract. Please use your full names." Minerva and John signed quickly.

Ida inspected the papers and then replaced them in the folder. She reached for one of the boxes, a narrow one of honey-gold oak. When opened, the inside was revealed to be empty except for two holders carved for a wand. Ida pressed a finger against the front side of the box and a flat surface slid out. A piece of parchment was imbedded in wood and, with another press against the back of the box, Ida retrieved a phoenix quill and inkwell from a third compartment.

"This instrument will make a record of your wand which will then be transferred to Ministry records. Please, place your wand on the holders and sign your name with this quill. Mr. Hamilton?" She unscrewed the top of the inkwell as she spoke.

John set his wand, a reasonably long one of pale wood, in position and took up the quill, wetting the tip with the ink. As he moved it across the imbedded parchment, he remarked, "I've never seen a phoenix feather used as a quill before."

"It is said that a phoenix can distinguish good people from evil doers and will refuse to associate with untrustworthy persons. This quill has been in use for a very long time by the Aurors for this exact procedure because of this belief. In many ways, the registration of your wand is much more important and much more significant than your signature. Your wand is an expression of yourself," explained Ida. Glowing letters appeared on the inside top of the box: Oak, Unicorn Hair Core, 12 ¼ inches.

"Is that correct?" she asked John.

"Yes, it is."

Ida nodded absently, then removed and returned the wand to John. She shut the top and the writing compartment. When reopened, the slip of parchment was blank and the lettering had vanished. "Miss McGonagall, if you please?"

Minerva withdrew her wand from her sleeve and placed it on the holders. The polished dark wood contrasted with the lighter aged wood of the box. Taking the quill, she signed the piece of parchment with rapid, flowing strokes.

'Walnut, Dragon Heartstring, 11 ¾ inches' read out the lettering.

"Correct, Miss McGonagall?"

"Yes."

Ida marked something down on their paperwork and closed up the box. She set it aside, retrieving the second box, this one square, and unlatching it.

"These are your credentials. They indicate your status as official members of the Ministry," she said, giving them each a hand-sized black leather case. They flipped them open to reveal photo identifications listing their names and their department, stamped with the Ministry and Auror Department emblems. "You are required to carry them at all times when about Ministry business or when in the Ministry itself. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," they replied.

"Good. Here," she passed them a couple of sheets of parchment each, "Give these to Mr. Fitzwater."

"Thank you," said Minerva and John.

"Welcome to the Ministry. I hope you have a pleasant first day," responded Ida, ushering them out of the room and out of the Bureau's offices.

When the pair walked back into the Aurors' offices, they found it bustling as the rest of the Department had arrived and were preparing for the work day ahead. Skirting the edges so as not to bump into anyone, they found Fitzwater standing outside his office talking to a woman in her late thirties with a dirty blonde plait which almost reached her waist. When they turned, Minerva saw a vivid purplish scar slashed across the exposed right side of the witch's neck. Blue eyes assessed the new arrivals.

"This one would be mine?" asked the witch conversationally with a twitch of her head towards John.

"Broadmoore, allow me to introduce you to John Hamilton, who will be your responsibility, and Minerva McGonagall. Hamilton, this is Catherine Broadmoore who will be training you," said Fitzwater.

As she shook hands with them, Broadmoore directed, "Please call me Broadmoore, not ma'am or Miss Broadmoore."

"John or Hamilton, whichever you prefer," replied John.

"We tend to use surnames here," stated Fitzwater. "Ah, thank you," he finished as Minerva and John handed him their paperwork.

"Hamilton then, and you'll be McGonagall," Broadmoore said. "I'll introduce them around, sir, let you deal with that report Pilliwickle keeps harping on about."

"Thank you, Broadmoore. Hawkins should be in to collect McGonagall soon."

"Hawkins?" The older witch gave Minerva another, more prolonged, examination. "Hawkins…this should be interesting. I thought he swore not to take another protégé. How did you manage to convince him?" She directed the question at Fitzwater.

"I threatened him with paperwork."

Broadmoore laughed. "That would do it, I suppose. Come along, you two."

Fitzwater went inside his office as Broadmoore began taking Minerva and John down the row of desks and introducing them to the rest of the Aurors. She pointed out the empty desk beside her own which had been assigned to John. The final pair of desks belonged to Hawkins and now to Minerva. She eyed the accumulated stacks of parchment, which covered both desktops, and the filing cabinets that didn't quite shut properly.

"He truly hates paperwork," said Broadmoore. "He usually sticks to verbal reports whenever possible. If you want to get on the boss's good side, Fitzwater would be most appreciative if you could manage to help with this mess, I'm sure."

"I'll keep that in mind," replied Minerva. Broadmoore led them back to her desk and leaned against it as she spoke.

"Now, things are pretty quiet at the moment. As you know, the Aurors automatically handle murders, kidnappings, uses of the Unforgivables, assaults and so forth, but fortunately those are rare and we thus often supplement the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. You'll both be spending some time with them in order to get some experience on less serious cases such as minor thefts and Muggle baiting. If anything surfaces that requires Auror attention, specifically mine or Hawkins', you will be assisting from here as needed and requested. There's no fieldwork for a year without express permission from Fitzwater. I'm sure the boss mentioned the standard series of training routines and procedures, not to mention tests, which you'll go through in your training. McGonagall, I expect Hawkins and I will work something out where you and Hamilton will be taught some of it together. And speak of the devil…Hawkins!"

She waved at the wizard who altered his trajectory to come to them.

"Broadmoore."

"Good morning, Hawkins. Where have you been?"

"Lambeth."

"What were you doing in Lambeth?"

"Following up on a suspicious report."

"I see. Well, this is Minerva – "

"McGonagall and he's John Hamilton. Fitzwater assigned him to you?"

"I asked to be considered, yes," said Broadmoore. Hawkins only scrutinized Hamilton for a moment and turned to Minerva.

"Have you registered your wand and received your identification?" he demanded, holding out his hand.

"Yes, sir." Minerva deposited the case in the hand; he checked the card inside before returning it to her.

"Good."

"And I've introduced them to everyone else," added Broadmoore.

"Even better, McGonagall with me." A couple of steps away, he remembered and called, "Thanks, Broadmoore."

"You're welcome," was the reply. John sent a 'better you than me' look at Minerva and mouthed 'good luck.' Broadmoore smiled encouragingly and chose 'best of luck' to mouth.

"Thank you," said Minerva to Broadmoore before following Hawkins to their desks.

"May I ask what you were investigating?" Minerva ventured as they sat down.

"A rumor. Over the past couple of years, there have been accounts of strange, potentially magical, events occurring in that area of London. As of yet, I have found nothing conclusive," he explained. "It probably _is_ nothing. Now, we need to discuss your training."

"Yes, sir."

"How far do you live from the Ministry?"

"A little less than a mile."

"I expect you to walk to work then. I'll excuse it on days when it is raining or snowing hard, but otherwise, you are to get to work on foot. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're not going to ask why?"

"I assumed that I need to be in good physical condition and this is a convenient way to help ensure that I am."

"Right. I'll have Broadmoore show you to the changing rooms and showers later; you'll have been assigned a locker and should keep a set of spare robes there in it at all times as well as clothing you can move comfortably in." He shifted, bringing his feet up to rest on a pile of parchments. "We'll be practicing dueling and other skills on some days and you will need to wear something much less confining than robes."

"I assume Fitzwater went over the usual components of Auror training at some point?" he asked.

"Yes, he did, when I came to give my formal acceptance for the Aurors."

"That's good, but I have a few additions to make. I've requested help from several other departments."

"What additions, in specific?" Minerva inquired, a bit apprehensive.

"Professors Forsythe and Dumbledore felt you were capable of becoming an Animagus. There happens to be an Animagus on staff in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad who has agreed to teach you. One of Unspeakables will be instructing you in Occlumency and Legilimency – do you know what those are?"

"Legilimency is a form of mind reading while Occlumency is its countermeasure."

"More or less, but, as I was saying, I would like you to learn both. Members of International Cooperation will be assisting you in learning German." He swung his legs off the desk and leaned towards her. "Becoming an Animagus and Legilimency are optional, but I require Occlumency and the German if you wish to remain my apprentice."

"When will I have lessons?"

"Mostly in the mornings. I think German will have to be every day, but the others will be arranged to accommodate your schedule, my schedule, and your teachers' schedules. Legilimency will not be begun until after you have mastered Occlumency to my and to your instructor's satisfaction. For your German, I recommend you hire a tutor and practice at least a couple of hours on the weekends. The Ministry will of course reimburse you fully, for that and fr any other language you wish to learn – I strongly suggest that you brush up on your French, your file says you essentially stopped practicing it when you started Hogwarts."

"Yes, I did, except for the odd conversation with my sister."

"You'll need to review it. The time for the Animagus lessons will be decided later, once I hear back from the wizard who will be teaching you."

He leveled a hard stare at her, "What do you think about these additions? Still want to train under me? You could transfer to someone else. Your friend - Hamilton was it – he will be working very hard. If you stick with me, you'll be working harder. You'll have one, maybe two days off a month, and I will you run ragged the rest of the time."

Minerva held his gaze, drawing herself up, and replied firmly, "I'll do it sir, all of it – Animagus, Occlumency, Legilimency, German and French." Hawkins nodded and stood.

"Very well, let's not waste any more time. I'll take you to meet the people I've mentioned, we'll figure out a timetable, and then I want to talk about that duel of yours with Mr. Malfoy. I have critiques."

"Yes, sir," said Minerva as she followed him out of the Auror Department. Despite her own long legs, she had to walk quickly to match his rapid strides. She wondered if it was an indicator of how the next three years would be – always hurrying to keep pace with him and his expectations.

* * *

Selection from_ The Times_, August 8th, 1935 – "Nazi Manifestos Torn Down"

_"The Nazi Press reports a case of 'unheard-of Jewish audacity' at Fischach, near Augsbug, last Sunday. Storm troopers during a 'propaganda march' placarded the buildings in the village with anti-Jewish posters, one of which was stuck on the walls of the office of the local Jewish community, of which the president is Herr Hugo Deller. Herr Deller ventured to remove the placard, whereupon the Strom Troop leaders took him from his house to the market square, where a meeting had been summoned. He was compelled to stand there holding an anti-Jewish poster while a violent attack on the Jews was delivered to the crowd by a Storm Troop leader."_

Selection from_ The Times_, August 16th, 1935 – "Oppressed Teachers in Germany"

_"Miss J. Thomas, hon. secretary of the committee for the relief of German teachers, said they wanted to do for teachers in other countries what they had been doing for teachers in Germany. The work they were doing there was the only attempt made directly by teachers to help their colleagues in Germany who were being denied even the elementary right to live. They had hoped to bring to [the Conference on Academic Freedom at Oxford] a German secondary school teacher, but their advisors in London had thought it would be a very great risk for him to appear. After grave consideration it had been decided that it would be wiser perhaps if he did not come. This ruthless extermination of all that is best and noblest in German education, this tragic degradation of a great people, was no temporary phenomenon; it was a deliberate and conscious policy on the part of the Nazi education authorities."_

* * *

Within a short while, Minerva had established a routine. Her alarm woke her at six, she dressed and ate a basic breakfast, usually toast with the occasional egg if she was moving quickly enough to have the time to make it. On her way out, she grabbed _The Times_ from the stoop before hastening to the Ministry on foot as directed by Hawkins. By seven fifteen, she had apparated from a concealed spot off the street into the Atrium and was waiting for a lift. By seven twenty, Minerva was seated at her desk in the Auror headquarters after fetching herself a cup of tea.

Fitzwater always arrived before her, as did a couple of senior Aurors, but the majority trickled in over the next forty minutes. Minerva had decided to use this time to read any interesting bits out of _The Times_ or _The Daily Prophet_, which the Auror Department took in bulk for the benefit of their staff. Fitzwater had pointed the stack in the break room out to her one morning and remarked that he liked the Aurors to be up to date on happenings in the Wizarding world.

Perhaps not unexpectedly, Minerva's single copy of _The Times_ saw more use and handling than the all the issues of _The Daily Prophet_. Broadmoore, curious, had asked if she could borrow _The Times_ on the first day Minerva brought it. She had then shared it with several of the other Aurors, exclaiming over this article or that advertisement. From that point onwards, once Minerva finished reading whatever she wanted, _The Times_ was passed around the office and generally served as an amusement.

Through this habit, Minerva became better acquainted with her fellow Aurors as many of them would stop by her desk to either collect, return, or ask questions about the paper. John often joined in on the question and answer segments. The questions ranged from the relatively normal to the absurd.

"Do the Muggles still use telegrams?" asked Arnold Warmington who looked to be in his late fifties but was probably a decade or two older. "My dad was a Muggle and I remember how I loved to go down to the telegraph office with him, even just to watch them send the messages. I thought it was quite wonderful, sending messages to people hundreds of miles away. I d learned Morse code by the age of eight, of course, this was before I knew I was going to be a wizard. But I've been in the Wizarding World for so long, I don't know if telegraphs are still in use?"

"They are," answered Minerva, "But telephones are becoming more popular and common. My father uses both, depending upon the need."

"I see. Well, if you ever want to learn the code, I would be happy to teach you," he offered with a smile. "I have plenty of time as I'm not the spryest anymore and therefore tend not to be out in the field. Truth be told, I'll be transferring to the Wizengamot soon, but I wasn't quite ready to leave yet. It is nice to see a couple of new faces though and don't ever hesitate to ask me anything."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

He leaned close and muttered, "And don't let Hawkins intimidate you. I knew him when he first started and some of the stories I could tell…" Straightening, he glanced at Hawkins, who had just arrived, turned back to Minerva, and winked conspiratorially. Minerva quirked her lips in a smile before he went to speak with Fitzwater.

Tiberius Velox, a pure-blood related to the Prewetts and the Diggorys, held the honor of posing the most ill-informed and ludicrous questions. Minerva corrected his notion, based on secondhand information, that opera was a ritual designed to scare away evil spirits and brought in a book about automobiles and aeroplanes in order to explain how they could function without magic.

"Why do the Muggles call one of their queens 'Bloody Mary'?" Velox posed abruptly one morning. "Was she a vampire?"

Minerva and John, who had been passing by, stared at him. Velox settled his six foot frame into a chair, making the chair seem to shrink in the process. A short ponytail kept his wiry dark hair off his face although he maintained a full beard and mustache.

"Er – " John looked at Minerva helplessly, unable to compose a response through his shock.

"No, she was most definitely not a vampire, Velox," Minerva managed.

"Oh, then why is she called that?"

"During Queen Mary's reign, she persecuted people who had converted to the Church of England and refused to convert back to Catholicism. She was responsible for burning around three hundred people at the stake for which she was given the name 'Bloody Mary,'" explained Minerva.

Velox nodded and asked a second question. "What does a knighthood look like?"

"I'm not sure I understand," said Minerva.

"I assume it must be some kind of hat, and having one appears to indicate a high status or honor. I was wondering what such a hat would look like?"

John turned a laugh into a cough and said, "Excuse me. I just remember that I need to, ah, to speak with Broadmoore."

He scampered away before she could prevent it.

Minerva vowed to jinx him thoroughly their next practice duel. He did not deserve her mercy after abandoning her like this.

"A knighthood is not a hat," she said. "When someone receives a knighthood, he is inducted as a member of an order of chivalry whose constituents have provided a great service to the crown and to the country."

"For example, saving the life of a member of the royal family?" questioned Velox.

"Yes, that would count, but a knighthood can also be given for valiant deeds while in the military or for a long history of superior civil service or for enriching our culture."

"I see." Velox replied as he got to his feet. "Thank you for your patience, McGonagall."

"You're welcome," she said. He returned to his desk and Minerva reached for the copy of _The Daily Prophet._ She was interrupted in the middle of an article about rising anti-Muggle sentiments in mainland Europe by Gertrude Saunders. Cropped brunette hair framed a plain, but sensible face and the witch was dressed in a basic robe of burnt red.

"A bit bothersome isn't it," she stated. "I'm thoroughly glad to no longer be the youngest Muggleborn on staff and therefore the resident Muggle expert. Between you and Hamilton, my assistance in explaining the mysteries of the Muggles will no longer be required" She smiled, a smile which was a mixture of relief and satisfaction with a tiny pinch of glee thrown in.

"Hamilton – "

"I know he is not, strictly speaking, a Muggleborn what with having a wizard for a maternal grandfather," Saunders interjected. "You must remember that I was there when Palmer asked the two of you about your backgrounds. However, his parents are Muggle and he was raised ignorant of the Wizarding world. For all intents and purposes, he _is_ Muggleborn." She gesticulated with her hands as she spoke and nearly spilled the cup of coffee clutched in one hand.

"I'm merely grateful to be off the hook as it were," she concluded.

"You're welcome, I suppose," said Minerva.

"Don't be afraid to refuse to answer. Some of the question I've gotten over the years…" Gertrude shook her head. "Tasteless would be an understatement. Have a good day, McGonagall."

"And you," Minerva replied.

By the time Minerva finished reading whatever bits of news interested her each morning, the office would be full. Hawkins tended to arrive about ten minutes before eight and would grumble a good morning at her on his way to the coffee pot. From eight to eight thirty, Fitzwater made the rounds of the office, touching base with each Auror and handing out any new assignments or instructions. As Minerva had quickly learned, new assignments were rather rare.

When asked, Broadmoore explained, "We only see one or two cases per week which require the attention of the Aurors. If we do not have a current case, Fitzwater encourages us to assist the Enforcement Squad, to work older unsolved cases, or to practice our skills."

After Fitzwater had retreated to his office or left to attend a meeting, Hawkins would give Minerva a curt nod and a "Go on, then." Mornings were reserved for lessons. Each lasted from one to two hours, depending upon the availability of the instructor. On Mondays and Wednesdays, Minerva took the lift down to the Department of Mysteries for Occlumency with a venerable elder witch whose gaze could skewer someone from across the room and who she addressed as Madam Dryden. Tuesdays and Thursdays were spent with the Head of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, a wizard named William Norwood, who was a registered Animagus. Fridays were used for review with her tutors or alone. From the end of these lessons until lunch every day, Minerva worked with a member of the Department of International Cooperation on her German.

Lunch generally consisted of either a sandwich from home or something from the café around the corner from the Ministry. There was a dining hall within the Ministry itself, but Minerva preferred to leave the underground environment for a bit when the weather permitted.

Afternoons were composed of training more specific to the duties of an Auror: Stealth and Tracking, Concealment and Disguise, Intelligence and Communications, Law Theory and Practice, and Investigative Techniques as well as advanced courses in Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts which were tailored to an Auror's needs.

* * *

Selection from_ The Times_, August 20th, 1935 – "New Justice in Germany: Nazism as Source of Law"

_"Hence a wrong was possible in Germany in future even when no law threatened it with punishment…National Socialism had presented the German nation with a uniform view of life dominating the whole nation. The judge was able to draw upon this; it would provide him with the basis upon which he can recognize and understand the guiding ideas of legislation."_

Selection from_ The Times_, August 24th, 1935 – "Dr. Goebbels on Nazi Methods: Harshness Defended"

_"If the German Government saved their people from chaotic anarchy, expelled anti-social leaders from the community, and made them useful citizens again in the concentration camp, that was done in self-defense, and, having regard to the greatness of the danger, with the most humane methods possible. What did it matter if a few thousand enemies of society are placed in custody so long as 66,000,000 people had given itself life again?"_

* * *

"You've done this before, McGonagall," Hawkins said.

They were in a spacious cavern connected to the Ministry. Stalactites hung above their heads and the walls were rough with protruding rocks and spidery crevices although the floor itself was level and polished smooth. Glowing circles, each about a foot across, dotted the floor in a random scattering. At the moment, they were all red. Torches along the walls and lamps at the stalactites' tips provided additional illumination. Hawkins and Minerva stood at the center of the room inside another larger circle circumscribed by a white line.

"Green will be your target circle. Yellow indicates the next one in the sequence. Blue means you have already been to that circle and red means it is not yet a target. You can return to a blue circle, but if you step on a red one, you lose," he reminded her. "To start with, I'll give you ten seconds to locate and move to the next target, but that will be decreased by one second for every ten circles you complete. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"On three. One, two, three. Citare."

Minerva glanced about herself rapidly, spying first the yellow circle and then the green one some distance away. Apparating, she landed on the green circle which immediately turned blue.

"One one thousand, two one thousand –" Minerva counted as she searched for the next target. The yellow circle, which would now be green, had been at about four o'clock when she was in the middle circle. "– three one thousand, four one thousand –"

She spotted it, but stayed put to keep looking for the new yellow one. "– Five one thousand, six one thousand, seven one thousand –" There it was, to her far left. "Eight one thousand –" She apparated, green again turning to blue.

"One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand –"

Five circles, ten circles, down to nine seconds apiece, fifteen, then twenty, eight seconds, twenty-five and Minerva was no longer able to find both the green and yellow each time, thirty, down to seven seconds, faster, she had to be faster.

As soon as her eyes landed on a green spot, Minerva would vanish and reappear on the target. Thirty five circles finished. Hawkins rotated in the center, following her movements and muttering the count to himself.

"Six one thousand –" She was still on the blue circle. "– seven one thousand –" Apparate!

A flash caused her to duck and stumble as she materialized. Hawkins lowered his wand and restarted his count. Minerva flicked her eyes around the cavern, twisting quickly, "– two one thousand, three one thousand –"

"Four one thousand, five one thousand–" Green – and her thoughts brought her to it at once, almost instinctive now.

"Forty, six seconds," Hawkins called out. Minerva felt her heart rate jump and hunted for the green circle.

"One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand, six one thous–" There it was – apparate to it before –

"Awh!" She staggered on the landing. Yanking her sleeve up, Minerva checked the pinkish weal on her arm.

"Be faster next time," said Hawkins. She glared at him as she walked back to the center circle. He was unfazed and even seemed amused by it. "We'll try again."

"A minute please," Minerva replied.

Her mentor nodded but said, "An enemy would not give you a breather."

"I know. However, I hardly think I would be apparating like this fast in a normal duel."

"Probably not. It's not the point of this exercise." Hawkins stepped out of the circle, pacing around it.

"Yes, I know that too. The point is to develop my observational skills by seeing and remembering where the next target circle is and to strengthen my accuracy when apparating."

"And to condition you against panic. I saw how you became flustered when I almost hit you and then the time decreased," he declared. "You can't allow yourself to start to go to pieces when something goes wrong. You can't afford to panic. Understand?"

"Yes, I do."

"Good. Let's try again." He came back inside the white circle. "Renovo." The circles flared; the blue, green, and yellow ones reset to their original red.

"One, two, three, citare," he called. Minerva searched, located her target, and disapparated.

"One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…"

* * *

*For the significance of Lambeth - see the HP-Lexicon's Map of Magical Central London* (Spoilers of a sort)

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